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angelseraphines · 7 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ ultraviolence ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x player!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is also a part one to this imagine, playing dangerous, and a part two, do you think you’d kill for me, one day? i hope you enjoy reading! 🤍

˚ ༘♡ choosing to take up arms and align yourself with player 456’s desperate plan was not so much a choice as it was an ultimatum. to do nothing, continue playing by their sadistic rules, meant walking the same path to inevitable death. but this? this rebellion, this gamble to strike at the heart of the operation. a blaze of defiance instead of the slow suffocation of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ the gunfire came fast and relentless, each crack like lightning splitting the air around you. the deafening staccato of bullets ricocheted off the metal structures, sharp and unforgiving. you pressed yourself hard against the crimson barrier, your heart a violent drumbeat in your chest. each near miss tore at your nerves, leaving behind the bitter taste of survival.

˚ ༘♡ the red structures were impractical shelter, offering only the facade of safety. around you, the others fought back with what little ammunition and courage they had. some fired blindly, their hands shaking, others aimed with accuracy, faces set with the resilience of people who knew they may never see another day.

˚ ༘♡ the air reeked of gunpowder and sweat, and your own breath came in short, uneven bursts as you tried to steady your hands. the ground beneath you was littered with shell casings and splintered debris, each piece a fragment of the chaos you had willingly stepped into. a thought crossed your mind, whether this was bravery or madness. but the thought vanished as quickly as it came, drowned out by the next thunderous racket of gunfire.

˚ ༘♡ you don’t have time to think, only to act. your fingers find the magazine release instinctively, pressing it hard. the spent magazine drops to the ground, clattering louder than you’d like. your other hand is already reaching for a fresh one, fumbling for a second before finding it.

˚ ༘♡ the cool metal feels heavy in your palm as you slot it into the magazine well. you shove it upward until it clicks into place, a sound that’s both satisfying and urgent. your hand moves to the slide, gripping the serrated edges. you pull it back sharply, feeling the resistance, and let it snap forward with a crisp, metallic clank.

˚ ༘♡ your heart is racing, but your hands are steady. you flick the safety off with your thumb without even thinking about it. the gun is ready again, its weight familiar in your grip. you take a breath that doesn’t seem deep enough, your focus narrowing as you lift the weapon and prepare to fire at the masked men who stand across in another block structure.

˚ ༘♡ player 001 had insisted you stay behind. his voice was grounded, almost gentle, as he took your hand, his rough fingers a stark contrast to the warmth in his tone. “this plan is reckless,” he said, his expression unreadable except for the glint of concern in his dark eyes. “we have enough people. you don’t need to put yourself in danger.” but his attempt at reassurance only fueled your resolve.

˚ ༘♡ “if you’re not staying behind, neither am i,” you replied, your voice firm, though your heart pounded like a war drum. his face darkened with vexation, but he didn’t argue further, young-il knew he could not change your mind.

˚ ༘♡ crouched behind the unforgiving cover of the red structure, your hands trembled as you clutched the empty weapon. “i’m out of ammo,” you called, your voice barely cutting through the raucous chaos around you.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun and jung-bae had disappeared minutes ago, slipping into the chaos to infiltrate the control room. every second they were gone stretching unbearably thin. around you, the others were panicking. shouts rose above the gunfire, “almost out!” player 246 hollered, “running low!” player 120 yelled out, desperation laced every shout.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s radio crackled to life, gi-hun’s strained voice breaking through. “we’re running out of ammo here. there are more magazines on the guards, someone has to get them. hurry!”

˚ ༘♡ the moment the line went dead, young-il turned to the group. unlike the others, he was calm, his face as still as stone, his composure a striking contrast to the pandemonium. his eyes swept over each of you, calculating, deliberate. “four of us will move to back them up,” he said, his voice even, “but someone has to retrieve the magazines from the guards.”

˚ ༘♡ you felt the weight of his gaze settle on you for a moment longer than the others. your stomach tightened. the bodies of the masked men were out there, sprawled in the open, exposed under relentless gunfire. retrieving the magazines meant running into certain danger.

˚ ༘♡ “i’ll go!” dae-ho shouted, his voice quivering. his hands shook as he clutched his weapon, his knuckles white against the grip. before anyone could argue, he pushed himself to his feet and sprinted into the open, his silhouette a vulnerable target in the chaos. bullets ricocheted off nearby walls, sparks flying like tiny explosions. player 120 darted after him, crouching low and firing in short bursts to cover his reckless charge.

˚ ༘♡ young-il, player 047, and player 015 began moving toward the exit. you didn’t hesitate to follow, the worn soles of your shoes crunching against the debris-strewn ground. before you could take more than a few steps, young-il stopped abruptly, turning to face you. his stern gaze locked onto yours, “stay here,” he said, his voice low.

˚ ༘♡ your chest tightened with frustration, and you met his command with a sharp glare. “i can’t stay out here,” you hissed, your voice barely louder than the chaos around you. “how can i stand by knowing you’ll be in danger while i sit here, doing nothing? i can help.”

˚ ༘♡ his expression darkened, his face hardening as his jaw tightened. the faint lines around his eyes deepened into sharp creases, the wear of age etched into his skin. you could see the conflict inside him, his instinct to protect you clashing with the knowledge that he couldn’t stop you. his shoulders sagged ever so slightly, a reluctant surrender.

˚ ༘♡ he didn’t argue further. instead, he turned sharply and continued toward the exit, his steps heavier than before. you followed close behind, the cold air biting at your face and your hands shaking.

˚ ༘♡ once inside, the oppressive silence of the corridors was shattered by the sharp crack of gunfire echoing through the narrow passageways. your boots slid against the blood-slick floors, the dark streaks smearing across the ground like grotesque markers guiding your way. shattered shell casings crunched underfoot, their metallic edges catching the dim light as you moved in tight formation behind the others.

˚ ༘♡ the sounds grew louder with every turn, each burst of gunfire sending a jolt through your chest. when you reached the source, your heart sank. gi-hun and jung-bae were pinned down behind a stack of crates, their weapons barking in quick bursts as masked men returned fire from the opposite end of the hall. “the control room is there!” gi-hun shouted, his voice strained as he gestured toward a guarded staircase. the veins in his neck stood out with the effort.

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s gaze darted between the staircase and gi-hun, his expression grim. “i’m nearly out of ammo,” he said, his voice undisturbed despite the chaos around him.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun didn’t hesitate. he reached into his pocket, retrieving a magazine with shaky fingers. “here,” he said, extending it toward young-il. “it’s my last one.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il’s eyes flicked to the magazine, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face. “are you sure?” he asked, his tone measured, though the tension in his voice was unmistakable.

˚ ༘♡ gi-hun nodded. “dae-ho will be back with more. now go!”

˚ ༘♡ young-il looked as though he might argue, yet with a reluctant nod, he took the magazine. sliding it into his weapon, he jerked his head toward the opposite direction. “this way,” he commanded.

˚ ༘♡ you fell in step beside him, your shoulder brushing his as you moved. the air felt thick, you couldn’t help but glance at young-il, his face a mask of stable focus.

˚ ༘♡ arriving at another stairwell, the tension in the air felt suffocating, every step heavy with the weight of what might come next. player 047 and player 015 moved quickly, their rifles poised as they positioned themselves near the walls, peering toward the masked guards above.

˚ ༘♡ you and young-il lingered behind them. he reloaded his rifle with the magazine gi-hun had given him. your hands tightening around your weapon. the cold metal felt heavier than ever, slick with the sweat of your palms. you tried to calm your breathing, to ready yourself for the chaos that was certain to erupt. beside you, young-il raised his gun, his posture steady and unshaken. you followed his lead, preparing for the onslaught, waiting for the inevitable storm of bullets. the shots rang out, but they weren’t aimed at the guards.

˚ ༘♡ the first sharp crack reverberated through the stairwell, a deafening sound that seemed to shatter the air. player 047 jerked forward, his body crumpling to the ground like a discarded puppet. his rifle clattered away, the life drained from him in an instant.

˚ ༘♡ before the echo of the first shot faded, another followed, sharp and final. player 015 collapsed, his body writhing as blood began to trickle beneath him. he let out a guttural, choked gasp, his hands clawing weakly at the ground as he struggled to breathe. his voice, broken and trembling, was barely audible as he begged for mercy, his words dissolving into wet, rasping breaths.

˚ ༘♡ you stood paralyzed, the scene before you unspooling in a sickening blur. player 047’s body lay still, his eyes vacant, while player 015 twitched helplessly, his life draining away with each agonized second.

˚ ༘♡ your eyes went to young-il, who remained motionless, his gun still raised. his expression was cold, unreadable, as if the weight of what he had done didn’t touch him at all. there was no hesitation in his actions, no flicker of remorse in his eyes.

˚ ༘♡ the distant echoes of gunfire and screams drowned out by the discordant pounding of your own heartbeat. your mind raced, grasping for something, anything, to make sense of what was happening, but your body refused to move. your breath caught in your throat as young-il turned toward you, his weapon still raised, the barrel gleaming under the light.

˚ ༘♡ time seemed to stretch as the frigid metal pressed against your forehead, the faint scrape of the barrel against your skin sending a chill down your spine. his eyes, once a source of reassurance, now bore into you with an intensity that felt almost inhuman. they weren’t angry, but calculating. you opened your mouth to speak, to plead, to demand answers, but no sound came. the words were trapped, strangled by a fear that gripped your chest.

˚ ༘♡ for a vanishing moment, hope sparked when he lowered the gun. relief struck you so abruptly it nearly made your knees give out. that hope shattered as quickly as it came. he aimed the gun not at your chest, but lower. you barely registered what was happening before the deafening crack of the shot filled the air.

˚ ༘♡ the agony radiating from your shattered knee. it was as if every nerve in your body had been set ablaze, the pain so consuming it blurred your vision and stole the breath from your lungs. blood gushed from the wound, pooling rapidly beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ you clawed at the ground, desperate for anything to anchor you as your body convulsed with the shock of the injury. tears streamed down your face, hot and uncontrollable, as a strangled cry escaped your lips. the cold floor beneath you seemed to pull the heat from your body, leaving you trembling and vulnerable.

˚ ༘♡ through the haze of agony, you forced your gaze upward, meeting his cold, unflinching eyes. “why?” you rasped, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your ears. the word was a broken plea, filled with pain and betrayal, though deep down, you already knew no answer could justify what he had done.

˚ ༘♡ young-il stalked over to player 047’s lifeless body, his demeanor disturbingly composed despite the carnage surrounding you both. crouching beside the corpse, he grabbed the sleeve of the dead man’s jacket, his fingers curling around the fabric. with a deliberate pull, he tore a strip from the bloodied material.

˚ ༘♡ you writhed where you lay, the searing pain in your knee refusing to relent. blood continued to seep from the wound, its warmth pooling beneath you in thick, sticky smears. your breathing came in short, erratic gasps

˚ ༘♡ he returned to you, the strip of fabric clutched in his hand like a twisted tool of control. his presence loomed over you, suffocating in its quiet intensity. you flinched as he knelt beside you, the smell of blood and sweat clinging to him, a grotesque reminder of what he’d done.

˚ ༘♡ without warning, his hand shot out, his grip firm as he seized your chin. the sudden pressure forced your head off the cold, blood-slick floor, and you gasped, your lips trembling as you struggled to focus through the pain clouding your vision. his touch was rigid, his fingers digging into the tender flesh of your jaw.

˚ ༘♡ young-il worked methodically, winding the fabric around your mouth. you tried to jerk your head away, but his grip tightened, holding you in place as he secured the knot at the back of your head. the coarse material bit into the corners of your mouth, the taste of grime and death filling your senses as your cries were reduced to stifled, pitiful sounds.

˚ ༘♡ when he finally let go of your chin, your head hit the floor with a thud that seemed to echo inside your skull. the pain was sharp, but it paled in comparison to the turmoil raging within you. confusion clawed at your thoughts, tangled with disbelief so heavy it was suffocating. this was young-il, the man who had stood beside you, risked his life for you. you couldn’t reconcile the murderous figure before you with the person who had once seemed so kind, so loyal. why? the question screamed in your mind, louder than the agony in your leg or the blood pounding in your ears.

˚ ༘♡ he pulled the portable radio from his pocket, the cold efficiency of his actions cutting deeper than any bullet could. he walked over to where player 015 lay, choking on his own blood, the pitiful sound barely audible between gurgling gasps. kneeling down beside him, young-il’s voice changed, slipping into a grotesque mockery of grief and desperation.

˚ ༘♡ “i’m sorry, gi-hun,” he said, his voice uneven, laced with feigned exhaustion. “it’s over.”

˚ ༘♡ your eyes widened as the meaning of his words sank in. you thrashed against the bindings around your mouth, your muffled screams raw and desperate as you tried to drown out his lie. gi-hun needed to hear the truth, that young-il betrayed them, but the gag stifled every sound.

˚ ༘♡ young-il pressed the radio closer to player 015, holding it just inches from the man’s face. the wet, ragged gasps of the dying player filled the channel. you watched in horror as young-il’s hand rested on the radio. it was cruel, calculated, a performance designed to destroy any hope gi-hun might have left.

˚ ༘♡ with a flick of his finger, he silenced the radio. the stairwell was suddenly quiet except for your muted weeping and the faint rasp of player 015’s fading breaths. young-il stood over him, his gun raised once more. there was no hesitation, no emotion as he pulled the trigger. the crack of the shot was deafening, the sound of it reverberating off the concrete walls and leaving an emptiness in its wake.

˚ ༘♡ the silence that followed was unbearable. it pressed down on you, crushing your chest, as the weight of his betrayal settled fully in your mind. young-il turned, his face as calm as ever, and you felt your stomach twist. “i’m sorry,” young-il murmured. your heart sank as you convinced yourself this was it. he was going to kill you, finish what he started and tie up loose ends.

˚ ༘♡ instead, he turned and walked away, his footsteps unhurried. the sound of them faded into the distance. confusion churned in your chest, mingling with the pain that consumed your body. why leave you in such a pathetic state? surely, even he wouldn’t be so brutal as to condemn you to bleed out slowly, to suffer alone in agony until death finally claimed you.

˚ ༘♡ time became meaningless as you lay there. blood seeped from your shattered knee in hot, pulsing waves, the sticky warmth swarming beneath you, soaking into your clothes. the air grew colder, or maybe it was you, the life draining from your body, inch by inch. you couldn’t tell if a minute had passed or an hour.

˚ ༘♡ somewhere far away, gunshots cracked. a scream came, a piercing, gut-wrenching sound that sent a shiver crawling up your spine despite your weakening state, unmistakably gi-hun. you refused to consider what might have happened, it was far too devastating.

˚ ༘♡ and then, footsteps.

˚ ༘♡ as the figure emerged into view, a dreadful realization set in. it wasn’t anyone you recognized.

˚ ༘♡ tall and imposing, the stranger was clad in sleek black from head to toe. the fabric of their attire shimmered faintly under the dim light, perfectly fitted, without a single crease or flaw. their face was concealed by an angular black mask, its pristine surface reflecting nothing, revealing nothing, not even a hint of the eyes beneath.

˚ ༘♡ your mind, dulled by pain and blood loss, struggled to comprehend the sight. fear should have seized you, but your body was too weak, your thoughts too fractured to muster a response. when the figure crouched beside you, their movements swift and efficient, you didn’t resist as they ripped the gag from your mouth.

˚ ༘♡ “who… who are you?” you managed to slur, your voice barely audible.

˚ ༘♡ the figure didn’t answer. they didn’t hesitate. one gloved hand cradled the back of your head, tilting it upward with unsettling care, while the other hand brought a cloth to your face. the sharp, chemical scent hit you instantly, chloroform.

˚ ༘♡ panic flared, yet it was short-lived. the edges of your vision blurred, your body growing heavier, like you were sinking into a dark, bottomless pit. the last thing you saw was the smooth, featureless mask staring down at you, icy and unfeeling, before the world faded into black.

a/n: another hwang in-ho fanfiction! let me know your thoughts and if you have any requests! 🤍

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cacoetheswriting · 4 months ago

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right where you left me. (the masterlist)

pairing: eddie munson x fem!reader (modern day au) total word count: 39,640

summary: a weekend gateway to with your old high school friends? sounds like a dream! only it’s not really as it’s been three years since you last saw them. three years since you left hawkins without so much as a goodbye, and certain people tend to hold grudges.

content warnings: friends-to-enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, forced proximity, angsty, mutual pining, suggestive & mature themes, adult language, emotional hurt / comfort, use of pet names, eddie is a bit of an asshole, mentions & descriptions of underage alcohol consumption / substance abuse, discusses sobriety, and also touches on topics of: unrequited love, divorce, death, grief, toxic relationships, mental health, self-doubt / insecurities, love triangle? — pls read the cw's for each chapter and let me know if i missed any!

psa: any images used in chapter headers don’t depict readers physical attributes! these are also vaguely — if at all— described in the story.

a/n: the following are some songs i think they fit perfectly with their story, so i wanted to share them with you.

as always, thank you for reading & please support your writers by reblogging <3

main masterlist

#right where you left me.#currently workshopping around 5/6 chapters eeek #it’s become a labour of love:#so i do hope you enjoy it.#eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson angst #eddie munson series #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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enwoso · 4 months ago

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healing touch | alessia russo x child!reader x leah williamson

-> based on this request.

grumpy masterlist

the final whistle blew like a sigh, dragging across the emirates stadium and leaving a hush in its wake. arsenal were down by 1-2. again. before the second leg. lyon had taken the lead, by a single, cruel goal. the kind of loss that sat heavy in your chest, too big to cry about, too sharp to ignore.

up in the stands, you sat frozen between your grandparents. your little hands were balled tightly in the sleeves of your red arsenal hoodie, your feet swinging just above the floor.

you hadn't moved since the 73rd minute—since leah had gone down.

it was a hard header, a ricochet off a corner kick, the goalkeeper caught leah square in the back of the head and while she was okay to continue she hadn't been playing with the same intensity since.

when it happened and the stadium had gone silent as leah crumpled to the pitch - not for the first time in the match. you had gasped so loudly that luca thought you were choking. you hadn't taken your eyes off the pitch since.

"nonna," you whispered, voice trembling. "mama hurt."

carol rubbed your back, fingers warm and familiar. "she's alright, amore. it's just a little knock, the physio would have taken her off if she wasn't okay."

"b-but she not playing the same" your voice broke slightly. "she not okay."

next to you, mario peered through his glasses. "it's just a knock, piccolina. football can be like that sometimes. mummy gets pushed around all the time but they give as good as they get kiddo"

"but-but it was her head," you said, twisting in your seat to look up at him. "what if mama forgets who i am?"

that stopped them all for a second.

even giorgio—who had just flown back from australia and barely had his coat off—went quiet. he reached over, scooping you gently onto his lap. "hey, hey, leah's not going to forget you. you're simply unforgettable. ask anyone."

you didn't smile. not this time. "she's my mama," you said, voice small. "and mummy's gonna be sad too."

that's what worried you more than anything. because as tough and smiley as your mummy could be on tv or on the pitch, you knew the way alessia's face tightened when people she loved got hurt. you saw it when your nonno had fallen off the step ladder last year. you saw it when leah had to withdraw from england camp with a hamstring injury. and you saw it now.

it took forever, but finally, after the final whistle and the handshakes and the long walk back down into the tunnel, you tugged at your nonna's hand.

"i want to go see mummy and mama. please."

carol nodded. "of course, tesoro. come on, boys."

luca grabbed your backpack, giorgio let you go on his shoulders - just like old times, as you all made your way down to the players' exit. you were bouncing with nerves by the time you got down there, peeking around corners like a little detective.

alessia was already there, still in her kit, her hair damp with sweat, pacing back and forth in her sliders. her brows were furrowed, her hands restless. she looked up—and melted the moment she saw you.

"hi, baby," alessia smiled, crouching down as you walked into her arms, alessia kissing the side of your head.

"mummy," you said, resting your head on your mummy's shoulder as she greeted the rest of her family. "is mama okay? her head—her head—"

"she's okay," alessia murmured, arms tightening around her. "scared us for a bit, but they're looking after her. it's just a little knock."

"but what if she's dizzy forever?" you pulled back slightly, wide eyes shining. "or what if she doesn't remember how to be funny anymore?"

alessia gave a soft laugh, pressing another kiss to your forehead. "she's still funny. she tried to trade the ice pack for chocolate."

you blinked before a small giggle slipped from your lips. a moment later, a physio appeared—and behind them, leah.

she looked tired. her head was wrapped in soft white gauze, and there was a slight wobble in her step, but her eyes lit up the second they landed on you

"hey, my little angel," she cooed softly. you didn't hesitate. you scrambled out of your mummy's arms and ran straight into leah's legs, hugging them tightly until leah crouched down with a wince.

"angel, i'm okay."

"i was so scared," you whispered into her chest.

"it's okay, just a little bump," leah murmured. "i'm here now."

you leaned back, cupping leah's face in both of your hands and said, very seriously, "you have to tell the ball to be nicer."

"i'll talk to it next training session, promise."

"and you're not allowed to fall again," you added. "ever."

"yes, ma'am," leah said with a mock salute, making you finally giggle.

behind the two of you, carol was wiping her eyes discreetly, and mario blew his nose loudly into a napkin. giorgio just muttered something about "bloody allergies" and sniffed dramatically.

alessia knelt beside them, pressing a hand to leah's back. "i think the little boss has spoken."

"and i think we'd better listen," leah said, smiling softly as she turned to plant a small kiss to alessia's lips. you putting your hands over your eyes as you made fake gagging noises, drawing a few giggles from your mums.

you all sat there together for a few moments, all three of them tangled on the floor of the hallway. you had one arm around each of them, like you were physically holding their hearts together.

then, out of nowhere, you straightened a little, your expression going thoughtful.

"also," you said, like you'd just remembered something incredibly important, "can i go to the soft play with uncle gio tomorrow?"

there was a beat of silence. and then—leah snorted. alessia burst into a laugh, a proper full-body one that made her eyes squint and shoulders shake.

you looked between them, totally serious. "what? it important."

leah wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "of course it is."

alessia grinned. "why not? gio's got a lot of uncle points to earn back after disappearing to the other side of the world for a year!"

in the background, giorgio held up his hands in surrender. "alright, alright! i'll take her. we'll do the whole works. slides. ball pit. juice boxes. you name it tiny!"

you gave a satisfied nod, arms crossed. "okay. but, but you have to go down the slide with me cause last time you said your back hurt."

"that was a lie," luca mumbled under his breath. "I HEARD THAT," giorgio shot back.

leah leaned her head against alessia's shoulder, grinning through the headache as alessia placed a sweet kiss to her cheek. "she's adorable."

"she's her own entire world," alessia said, brushing a hand through your curls. "but yeah. too adorable."

as the family laughed, teased, and made soft play plans for tomorrow, you nestled yourself back between the two people you loved most in the world. your eyes fluttered shut for a moment, content and safe.

because even on nights when the team lost, when the stadium felt too quiet and the world too heavy—you knew one thing better than anyone. love always won. and you were surrounded by lots of it.

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ahqkas · 8 months ago

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“HOLDING YOU, HOLDING ME — dick grayson.

PAIRING! dick grayson x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! he wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was nightwing, gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. and now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew

WORD COUNT! 4.7k

WARNINGS / TAGS! wounds and patching up, mention of blood, light cursing + lmk

NOTES! i’ll never let go of this scenario bc no matter how many times i read or write it i know i’ll eat it up ,, header below belongs to @/v6que

THE SOUND OF SHUFFLING OUTSIDE YOUR BEDROOM WINDOW PIERCED THROUGH THE FRAGILE BARRIER BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS, pulling you abruptly from the fog of dreams. Your heart stuttered, then raced, its rhythm a drumbeat in your ears as your senses stirred to full alertness. The muffled sounds of Gotham’s unrest—honking car horns, distant sirens wailing through the streets, and the occasional shout ricocheting off brick walls—were nothing new. It was the soundtrack of the city, a reminder that safety here was a fleeting illusion. But this sound was different. It wasn’t part of the distant chaos. It was near. Uncomfortably near.

You lay motionless, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, as a cold tendril of unease slithered down your spine. The shuffle came again, a strained, uneven drag that was too heavy, too deliberate to be dismissed as the wind or the misstep of a stray animal. The hairs on your arms stood on end, your body responding to a primal warning long before your mind could catch up. A knot of tension coiled in your stomach, tightening with each beat of silence that followed.

Your breath hitched as your ears strained, every creak of the old apartment building suddenly amplified. The sound of your neighbors moving around above you had ceased hours ago, and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen now felt deafening in comparison. Even the street noise below seemed to recede, swallowed by the weight of whatever lurked just beyond the thin pane of glass separating your room from the outside world.

Another shuffle—closer now—was accompanied by the faint scrape of something against the windowsill. A metallic sound? Your mind raced through possibilities, each one darker than the last, as your muscles tensed involuntarily. Instinct told you to stay still, to let the darkness cloak you, but adrenaline screamed at you to move, to act, to do something. The only thing louder than the pounding of your heart was the oppressive silence that followed the noise, stretching thin like a thread about to snap.

Then, a low groan shattered the quiet like a rock through glass—rough, ragged, and undeniably human. Your breath hitched, a shaky inhale catching in your throat as the sound sent a white-hot jolt of adrenaline through your veins. This wasn’t the screech of metal caught in a storm or the hollow clatter of a stray cat tipping over trash cans in the alley below. No, this was something else—someone else. And they were hurt.

Before you could fully process it, the groan was followed by another noise: a faint, rhythmic creak, unmistakable in its familiarity. Metal shifting and bending under weight, groaning as it protested movement along the fire escape just outside your window. It was a sound you had heard a hundred times before, but never like this—never in the dead of night, never accompanied by the guttural rasp of pain. It dragged a sharp, cold edge of dread across your mind, slicing through the thin veneer of safety you’d wrapped yourself in.

You sat up slowly, the mattress beneath you groaning in protest despite your careful movements. The noise seemed deafening in the oppressive quiet, and you froze, lips pressed together as if even the sound of your breathing might give you away.

Your eyes darted toward the window, the one barrier between you and the unknown outside. The curtains hung limply, a thin barrier of fabric that diffused the faint glow of streetlights below but revealed nothing of the shapes or movements beyond. Your pulse thundered in your ears as your mind raced. Every instinct screamed at you to stay still, to melt into the shadows and feign ignorance, to bury yourself under the covers and hope the moment passed.

But there was something else—a treacherous, gnawing pull of curiosity that refused to let you stay frozen. It dragged at you, a siren call that tugged against the fear coiled in your gut. Against all logic, you leaned forward, heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might leap from your chest. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, each shallow breath catching against the weight of the silence as you crept closer, unable to ignore the magnetic pull of whatever—or whoever—waited on the other side of that fragile pane of glass.

You froze just steps away from the curtain, your hand outstretched but trembling in the stillness of the room. Your fingers hovered mere inches from the fabric, the rough texture brushing your skin as you hesitated. The air felt heavier here, charged with the kind of tension that made your chest tighten and your breathing shallow. Each breath you took was deliberate, measured, the faint rush of air between your lips almost too loud against the suffocating quiet. Every nerve in your body begged you to turn back, to crawl under the covers and pretend none of this was happening.

But then another sound broke the stillness—a groan, sharper this time, tinged with desperation. It wasn’t the deep, detached groan of exhaustion but something raw, visceral, and undeniably human. The sound struck you like a slap, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. Whoever was out there wasn’t loitering or trying to scare you. They were hurt. And badly.

The realization sent a shiver rippling through you, but it didn’t stop your fingers from clutching the edge of the curtain. Slowly, cautiously, you pulled it back just enough to peek outside. The cold air from the window seeped through the thin glass, and you instinctively leaned closer, the warmth of your breath fogging the pane as you strained to see into the darkness. For a moment, there was nothing—only shadows twisting in the faint orange glow of the streetlights below, the occasional shimmer of metal catching the dim light. The fire escape stretched out before you like a skeletal bridge to nowhere, its emptiness pressing against your mounting fear.

Then, your eyes adjusted, and the shadows shifted, revealing a figure slumped against the railing. Your stomach twisted painfully at the sight, the breath caught in your throat as you tried to process what you were seeing. A man—larger than you expected, broad-shouldered despite the way his frame sagged—leaned heavily on the railing, his head tipped forward as if even the act of holding it up was too much. His chest rose and fell in uneven, labored breaths, each one visible in the faint puff of condensation against the night air.

His clothes—or was it some kind of suit?—clung to him, dark and soaked in places you didn’t want to think about too closely. The material melted into the blackness of the night, making it hard to tell where he ended and the shadows began. But there was no mistaking the weight of his posture, the way his hands gripped the railing with what little strength he had left, or the crimson stain trailing down the side of his body, catching the faintest glimmer of light. The sight of it turned your unease into something deeper, something colder.

“Shit,” you muttered, the word slipping out before you could stop it, sharp and quiet in the tense air. Your pulse quickened, adrenaline washing over you like a crashing wave as the reality of the situation sank in. Whoever this man was, he needed help—and fast. The knot of fear in your chest twisted tighter, but it was overwhelmed by something more immediate: the urge to act. Your hands trembled as you reached for the window, the cool glass biting against your fingertips as you slid it open. The icy air hit you instantly, sharp and unforgiving, stealing the warmth from your skin and making you gasp.

You leaned out into the night, the cold biting your cheeks and tangling in your hair as you peered down at the figure slumped against the railing. “Hey,” you called, your voice low but urgent, carrying just enough to cut through the silence. Your breath puffed out in faint clouds as you spoke, dissipating into the darkness between you. “Are you okay?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth, even as they pressed against the lump of anxiety in your throat. Of course, he wasn’t okay—one look at him made that painfully obvious.

For a long, agonizing moment, the only response was the faint whistle of wind cutting through the metal of the fire escape. He didn’t move, his frame slouched in a way that made your chest tighten, the weight of his injuries pulling him down like gravity itself was working against him. Just as panic began to creep in—had he passed out? Was he even breathing?—he shifted, the motion slow and labored, as though even the act of turning his head was a monumental effort.

The faint light from the street below caught on his face—or rather, what was covering it. A mask. Sleek and dark, it reflected just enough light to reveal the harsh contours of his features, obscuring everything but the intensity of his movements. His head lolled slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might collapse entirely, the strength draining out of him like water slipping through a sieve. But then, with an audible effort, he rasped out, “Not really.”

The sound of his voice hit you like a gut punch—low, rough, and laced with pain. Each word dragged out of him felt like a struggle, and the exhaustion clinging to his tone was impossible to ignore. It was the voice of someone on the edge, hanging by a thread. You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you watched him shift again, the barest movement of his hand gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“Well, no kidding,” you muttered, more out of reflex than anything, the dry sarcasm slipping past your lips before you could stop it. But the sharp edge of your tone faltered as your gaze darted to his injuries. Blood—thick, dark, and all too real—streaked his side, dripping in sluggish rivulets down his torn clothes. You swallowed hard, fighting the rising wave of panic threatening to claw its way up your throat. “Can you… uh, climb inside?” your voice was softer now, but still tinged with urgency.

He hesitated, his shoulders stiffening, and for a fleeting moment, he looked more like a cornered animal than an injured man. His hand gripped the railing tighter, the tension in his posture radiating defensiveness even as he swayed slightly, his balance precarious. “I don’t want to—” he began, his words rasping out low and hesitant, as if he were weighing the consequences of accepting help against the risks of staying put.

“You’re bleeding on my fire escape,” you interrupted, crossing your arms to disguise the nervous tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking. Get in here before someone sees you.” You tried to keep your voice steady, firm, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. You weren’t sure where the sudden boldness had come from��maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation—but you refused to back down. If he didn’t move soon, you weren’t sure he’d be able to at all.

For a split second, you thought he might argue, but then his lips twitched ever so slightly, a faint ghost of a smirk flickering across his face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the grim set of his jaw as he shifted, bracing himself. With a pained grunt, he pushed off the railing, his movements slow and deliberate, every step looking like it might be his last. His knees buckled slightly as he approached the window, and instinctively, you stepped closer, your arms uncrossing as you reached out without thinking.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He was trying to sound strong, but the unsteadiness in his steps betrayed him. As he climbed through the window, the effort took its toll. He leaned heavily against the window frame, his large frame towering over yours even as his weight pressed into you for support. The sudden closeness made you freeze for a moment, the sheer size difference between you starkly apparent as his broad shoulders filled the small space of your window.

You adjusted quickly, hands instinctively reaching to steady him despite your earlier hesitation. One hand brushed against his arm, and you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt beneath your touch, even through the bloodied material of his suit. He shifted his weight against you slightly, just enough to steady himself, and the subtle press of his shoulder against yours was enough to make you acutely aware of how much he was relying on you in that moment.

“Easy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as he finally made it through the window and into your apartment. You stepped back to give him space, resisting the urge to grab his arm again as he straightened with a wince. His movements were slow and deliberate, every motion screaming of pain, but he managed to stay on his feet. For now.

“Couch,” the word tumbled out before you could think too hard about what came next. You gestured toward the battered, threadbare piece of furniture across the room, its cushions sagging from years of use. It wasn’t much, but it was better than your window frame—or worse, the fire escape he’d just been bleeding all over.

He gave a faint nod, the motion sluggish as he shuffled forward, his hand bracing against the wall for balance. Each step looked like a battle he was barely winning, and just as he reached the couch, his knees seemed to give out entirely. He dropped onto it with a heavy exhale, the springs creaking loudly in protest. His head tipped back against the cushion, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your back still pressed against the window as your mind worked to catch up with what had just happened. The sharp contrast of his dark figure against the warm glow of your living room lights made the scene feel surreal, like something out of a movie. But the blood—thick and vividly red against the black fabric of his suit—was all too real.

And now, in the full light of the room, you could finally see him clearly. The sleek black material clinging to him wasn’t just any clothing—it was a suit, one that seemed designed to meld with the shadows. Faint blue lines traced down his sides in sharp, angular patterns, adding a faintly futuristic edge to his appearance. But it wasn’t the design that held your attention—it was the bird emblazoned across his chest, unmistakable in its shape even beneath the layers of grime and blood.

Nightwing.

The name hit you like a freight train, an unspoken expletive rushing to the tip of your tongue as you took another step forward. Nightwing is in my apartment. The realization made your knees feel unsteady, and you clutched the back of a nearby chair for balance. He wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was Nightwing, Gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. And now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew.

Your gaze dropped back to the gash across his chest, the jagged tear in his suit exposing the angry, raw wound beneath. Blood was soaking through the material, dark and relentless, and the sheer amount of it sent a chill racing down your spine. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the rising tide of panic. This was happening. This was real.

And if you didn’t act fast, he wasn’t going to make it.

“I’ll get some supplies,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of disbelief. Each step felt heavy, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears as you yanked open the cabinet under the sink. The first aid kit sat buried behind a clutter of forgotten toiletries, its edges dusty and worn, but it would have to do. You grabbed it along with a few clean towels, their soft cotton contrasting starkly with the chaos unfolding in your living room.

When you returned, your stomach twisted at the sight of him. He’d slumped further into the couch, his broad shoulders sagging into the cushions as if gravity were trying to pull him under. His head tipped back against the worn upholstery, exposing the pale curve of his neck. The steady rise and fall of his chest—though strained—was the only reassurance he was still alive.

“Don’t pass out,” you said, dropping to your knees beside him and setting the first aid kit on the coffee table with a clatter. The firm edge to your voice was betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as you unfurled one of the towels. Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced your tone to remain steady. You couldn’t let him see the full weight of your panic—not when he already looked like he was barely holding himself together.

At your words, he cracked one eye open, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze despite the shadows of pain etched across his face. “Not planning to,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, each word dragging out like it cost him more than he could afford. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was enough to make you pause.

Who the hell manages to look smug while bleeding out on someone’s couch?

But the glimmer faded as quickly as it appeared, his body sagging further against the cushions. You pressed your lips together, swallowing the sarcastic retort building in your throat. There wasn’t time for quips or questions—only action. You unfolded a towel, your fingers brushing against the warm stickiness of his blood as you pressed it gently against the gash across his chest. The sharp hiss that escaped his lips was like a jolt of electricity, and you found yourself murmuring, “Sorry,” even as you kept the pressure firm. His skin was warm beneath the blood and fabric.

You worked quickly, your hands steady despite the rising tide of nerves gnawing at your insides. The fabric around the wound had been torn beyond recognition, and you didn’t waste a second as you cut through the ruined material with swift, practiced motions. Each snip of the scissors felt like a small victory, as though you could fix this, like the clean cut would somehow make everything better. You pressed a towel to his side, feeling the heat of his blood seep through the fabric, the warmth of it sending a chill up your spine. He winced at the pressure, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t pull away. His muscles, tense and coiled under your hands, were the only indication that this wasn’t just a minor scrape. His breath came out in shallow gasps, but he didn’t make a sound of protest.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just broke into my apartment,” you said, your voice forced to sound lighter than it felt. The words were meant to cover the nerves crawling up your throat, to push away the uncertainty gnawing at you. Humor—it was the only defense you had left in this absurd situation.

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. It was rough and ragged, like even that small act of amusement took everything he had left. “Didn’t break in. Fire escape’s fair game,” he managed to rasp out, his eyes fluttering closed again as though the effort of speaking had drained him further.

For a moment, you stopped, just long enough to take in his words. Fair game, huh? You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, despite the situation. So this is how he justifies sneaking into random apartments in the middle of the night.

“Right,” you muttered, your voice dry, trying to ignore the sick feeling twisting in your gut. You could feel the heat of his skin under your fingertips, the way his body trembled slightly despite his attempt to stay composed. You glanced at his face, the mask still in place, but now that you were up close, you could see the way his eyes flickered with exhaustion and pain. It was like something human was trying to push through all the bravado.

But you had to focus. The towel in your hand was already damp from his blood, and you pressed harder, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured my night going,” you muttered, though your tone softened a bit as you reached for the first aid kit. Every instinct in your body told you to move fast, but there was something about him, even in this state, that kept you grounded.

Maybe because I’m not sure whether you’re about to pass out or punch me in the face, you thought, but didn’t say. Instead, you reached for the antiseptic, uncapping it with more precision than you felt, and prepared yourself for whatever came next.

His lips twitched again, a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was enough to make you wonder if he was trying to find some amusement in the chaos that had spilled into your living room. It didn't make sense—how someone could be this battered, this close to breaking, and still manage to show any semblance of humor. But there it was, a quiet resilience you couldn't quite place.

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you work. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, still tracked every movement of your hands, each shift of your body as you carefully cleaned and bandaged the wound on his side. There was something almost unnerving about how still he was, like a predator waiting for the right moment to move, but in the context of the situation, it made him seem more human. Vulnerable.

“You do this often?” you asked, your voice lighter than you felt. It was a simple enough question, but it served to break the silence between you, the quiet hum of the apartment making the space feel far too small. You didn’t look up at him immediately, but you could feel the weight of his gaze still on your face, intense and steady.

“Hmm?” he responded, the sound rough in his throat, as though the effort to form words had started to exhaust him.

“Get beaten to hell and crash on random fire escapes?” you pressed, glancing up at him as you secured the bandage around his chest. You tried to mask the faint bitterness in your tone with humor, the question rolling off your tongue more to distract yourself than anything else. This whole situation felt like something out of a bad dream, and you needed to ground yourself. Even if it meant making jokes about the absurdity of it all.

He let out a breath, his lips pressing together for a moment as he thought, the flicker of amusement still lingering in his eyes. “Only when I’m not at home,” he said softly, his voice rough, barely a whisper, but the sarcasm was clear. The way he said it—like he'd done this enough times to know exactly how it would go—made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, and maybe it wouldn’t be the last.

You couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh despite yourself, but it was more out of disbelief than humor. "That’s reassuring," you muttered, tightening the bandage with a firm pull. The night had turned stranger than you could’ve ever imagined, and all you could do was keep your hands steady as you finished the task, trying to ignore the fact that this was your reality now. For however long he was going to be here, this was your reality.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder—what exactly had he been doing up there? Was it a routine mission gone wrong? Or was it something else, something far more dangerous than just a bad night on patrol?

But asking those questions, probing further, felt like it would unravel everything you were holding together. You were already way past the point of no return, anyway.

You leaned back on your heels, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you wiped your hands on one of the towels, the fabric already stained with his blood. The light in your apartment, dim as it was, highlighted the mess of the night: the empty first aid kit, the scattered towels, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Everything felt heavier now—like the weight of what had happened wasn’t just about this bleeding stranger in front of you, but about you, too, suddenly pulled into something far more dangerous than you'd signed up for.

"You need stitches, but that’s the best I can do right now," you said, your voice softening as you turned back to him. "Try not to tear the bandages before you... I don’t know, get some actual medical attention?"

You were trying to stay light, trying to keep your tone steady, but the words felt hollow. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushed himself up with a grunt, the movement slow and stiff, his pain clear despite the faint determination in his eyes. He steadied himself against the arm of the couch, looking like he might collapse at any moment, but there was something else there too—something that made you stop, heart fluttering painfully in your chest.

He offered you a faint smile, the expression almost shy despite the rough edges of the night, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, unexpected way that made the room feel too small.

"Thanks. Really," he said, his voice rasping, but genuine.

For a moment, all the noise of the world outside your apartment seemed to fall away. The sirens in the distance, the occasional sound of traffic, even the distant hum of the refrigerator—it all blurred into nothing as you just stood there, staring at him. His gaze was soft, more tender than you would’ve expected from someone who’d just crashed through your window with blood dripping from their body. It wasn’t that it was romantic, per se—at least, that wasn’t what you expected it to feel like. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart skip a beat, something you couldn’t explain.

He didn’t move, didn’t look away, and for a long moment, neither did you. There was something raw in the quiet between you, as though both of you were momentarily suspended in this small, messy space. His smile was faint, but it was real—a fragile thing, born of pain and gratitude. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how the distance between you had narrowed while you weren’t paying attention.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand moved, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm—just a gentle brush of your fingertips against his skin. You told yourself it was nothing, just checking if he was steady, but even as you pulled away, there was a spark. A quiet acknowledgment that this was different. The way his eyes followed the movement of your hand, the way he hesitated before his next breath, made the space between you feel charged, like something unspoken was hovering in the air.

"You're welcome," you whispered back, voice quieter than before, tinged with something you couldn’t quite define. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, an understanding, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you in that small, dimly lit room, suspended in time, with everything else forgotten.

And just like that, you both broke the moment—him leaning back into the couch with a soft grunt, and you turning your attention back to the bandages, your pulse still racing in your ears. But the quiet connection lingered, a soft hum under everything else.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

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gamergirl929 · 1 year ago

Text

Age Is Just A Number (It Shouldn't Hold You Back) (Alex Morgan x Reader)

If there was one thing you didn't expect when you joined the USWNT, it was to develop a relationship with Alex Morgan, one that consisted of playful teasing and flirting. Despite the fact that she was ten years your senior, something she continuously reminded you of, you couldn't help but fall for her, age be damned, now if only Alex felt the same way.

Your tongue swipes along your lips as you watch Alex Morgan move to her feet, the woman’s uniform now drenched thanks to the waterlogged pitch you were being forced to play on in the semifinals against Canada in the Women’s Gold Cup.

You move past her, a smirk on your face.

“Looking good, as always Morgan.” You tease, and she rolls her eyes, giving you a playful shove as you all gather in the box for the incoming corner kick.

“Shut up.” She shakes her head, though she can’t bite back a smile.

You lick your lips, watching as Rose Lavelle sets up the corner kick, her hand held high in the air as she prepares to fire the ball.

The second the ball leaves her foot you know it’s yours, your teammates covered by the Canadian players.

You leap into the air, using your height to your advantage, jumping high above the Canadian players defending you, the ball ricocheting of your head and inches past Kailen Sheridan’s gloved hands.

You again jump into the air, throwing a fist above your head as your teammates surround you, ruffling your hair.

Rose jumps into your arms, and you lift her in the air before twirling.

“Nice corner as always Rosie.” You say, the woman giggling.

You turn towards Alex, a smirk stretching across your face.

“Are you impressed yet?” You flirt and she snorts, throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“It WAS an impressive header.” She says and you snicker.

“Don’t worry, you’ll fall for me soon.” You wink and she giggles, her cheeks flushing slightly as she makes her way towards her place on the field, ready to put the ball back into play.

***********************************************************************

The whistle blows and you sigh in relief, your clothes sticking to your body considering the rain had started back up towards the end of the second half.

A number of your teammates jog your way, Emily Sonnett in particular jumping on your back.

“Way to use your freakish tallness to take us through to the finalssss!” Emily says, her chin resting on the top of your head and you snort.

“I knew it was good for SOMETHING.” You snicker as the woman slides of your back before sprinting towards Lindsey and Rose.

Meanwhile, you make your way towards Alex, a smirk stretching across your face.

“So, what did you think of my performance?” You ask and she shakes her head.

“Ehhh.” She says and you throw your head back with a groan.

Alex nudges you with her hip.

“I’m kidding, you did great.”

You smile, throwing your arm around her middle, giving her side a squeeze, something that makes her cheeks flush.

“I do have to admit...” You say, leaning towards her, the proximity between you making her cheeks darken.

“I really like seeing you all wet.” You wink and she gives you a shove.

“Stop it.” She says, sticking her tongue out.

“I already told you, I’m too old for you.” She says exasperatedly and you shrug.

“Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.” You bite your bottom lip, noting the way Alex’s throat bobs.

“Y/N?” You turn, smiling when you see that you’re being waved over for an interview.

You back away from Alex, your eyes raking down her front, your tongue swiping at your lips.

“I think you’re JUST the right age for me.” You smirk, sending her another wink before jogging towards the waiting analyst.

Alex groans, rolling her eyes.

Despite the fact that Alex had told you multiple times that she was far too old for you, you continued to flirt relentlessly.

In all honesty, she HAD thought about it, but she knew you should be with someone your own age, not someone 10 years your senior.

“Mommyyyy!”

Alex smiles scooping Charlie up in her arms as she darts across the field, her little arms wrapping around her neck.

Not only was she 10 years your senior, but a mother as well, meaning her number one priority was Charlie, and would always be Charlie.

Across the field, you watch the pair with a soft smile.

“Jesus Christ, do you ever think of ANYTHING else?” Emily asks, throwing an arm around you and you grin.

“Hey, you can’t blame me for trying.” You smirk, unable to take your eyes off the forward as she makes the way around the field, Charlie in her arms.

“I mean, Alex IS milf material.” Emily shrugs, not realizing Kelley was standing behind her.

“I’m totally going to tell her you said that.” The older woman snickers and Emily’s eyes widen, her cheeks flushing.

“You wouldn’t dare...!” She says, chasing after Kelley as she sprints towards Alex.

You shake your head as you turn, shaking your opponent’s waiting hands.

You knew deep down you probably never had a chance with Alex Morgan, but there was no harm in flirting, was there?

************************************************************************

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were falling for me.” You tease as you hoist Alex to her feet after she goes down at practice.

Alex’s blue orbs widen when you reach towards her face, delicately brushing a piece of grass off her forehead.

She’s unable to stop her breath from hitching when your fingertips lightly graze her jawline, your eyes holding a softness she hadn’t seen all that often.

You clear your throat, your cheeks flushing as your bravado completely shifts, a cocky grin stretching across your face.

You send her a wink before making your back to your position on the field.

Alex’s throat bobs as you lift your shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from your face, revealing the chiseled muscle that hid beneath your shirt.

“Jan, you’ve got some drool on your chin.” Kelley teases as she jogs passed, earning a glare from the seasoned forward.

“I do not.” She grumbles and Kelley snorts.

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Alex turns away with a growl, again finding you on the field as you sprint towards Emily Sonnett, sliding in and swiping the ball from her, the blonde playfully nudging you on her way by.

Watching the interaction makes something stir within Alex, her blue orbs narrowing as she glares at the blonde.

She clears her throat, giving her head a shake before making her way down field and back into the scrimmage, putting whatever was churning in her stomach at the back of her mind.

************************************************************************

The more she saw you and Emily interact, the more her stomach churned, it didn’t take her long to realize exactly what she was feeling.

It was jealousy.

She tried her best to ignore it, but it continued to rear its ugly head.

It was then she realized she needed to put distance between the two of you, she had to ignore what she was feeling, you deserved someone your own age, not someone 10 years older than you.

It was in that moment she decided she had to put distance between the two of you, she had to ignore your constant flirting, she had to avoid you, she had to stop the feeling in her chest when she saw you with Emily Sonnett.

************************************************************************

“Looking good as always Morgan.” You wink as the huddle breaks, your eyes widening when Alex completely ignores you and turns away, jogging onto the field.

You frown, your brows knitted in confusion.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Emily asks, her hand resting on your back.

You shake your head.

“N-Nothing.” You mumble, slowly making your way towards the bench.

Maybe she hadn’t heard you?

Maybe she was so focused on the game that she just forgot to respond?

Whatever it was, it made your heart ache.

The whistle blows and you jump, pulled out of your thoughts when the fans cheer and the game ultimately starts.

************************************************************************

When the halftime whistle blows, you jog towards Alex, her throat visibly bobbing.

“Showing off for me?" You tease, screeching to a halt when Alex silently walks past you, in no way acknowledging your presence.

It was then you realize that she HAD heard you earlier, she'd just chose to ignore you, something that tears your heart in two.

“Why the long face?” Emily asks as she slings her arm around your shoulders, your frown deepening.

“Alex is ignoring me...” You mumble sadly, Emily’s brows furrow.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” She asks and you shake your head, the two of you making your way towards the locker room.

“Not that I know of.” You say, Emily humming.

“Maybe she’s just focused on the game?” She says, her head cocked to the side, and you shrug dejectedly.

“Yeah, maybe.”

************************************************************************

It turns out, Alex’s refusal to talk to you had absolutely nothing to do with the game considering once you’d gotten onto the bus, when you even looked in her direction, she turned away, shoving her air pods in her ears.

Your shoulders hunch as you drop down into an empty seat, your head hanging sadly.

“Hey, what’s wrong kid?” Kelley asks, rubbing your back on her way by and you shake your head.

“Nothing.”

Kelley scoffs, flopping down in the seat beside you.

“That’s bullshit.” She says and you sigh deeply.

“Alex won’t talk to me, and I don’t know why.” You mumble sadly, Kelley’s eyes narrowing, her brows furrow.

“When did that start?” She asks, her brown orbs darting from you to the back of Alex’s head and back.

“Today.” You swallow hard, wiggling in your seat.

“Do you want me to talk to her?” Kelley asks, your eyes widening in horror as you turn abruptly towards her.

“Please don’t, maybe she just wants space, I don’t know.” You shrug, Kelley studying your face for a moment before nodding.

“Okay kid, but if you want me to, let me know.” She says, ruffling your hair, which makes you smile.

“I will.”

Kelley makes her way towards the back of the bus, taking a seat beside Emily.

“Do you know what’s going on with Alex and Y/N?” She asks the blonde shrugging.

“Y/N just said she’s ignoring her.”

Kelley hums, her brown orbs staring holes in the back of Alex’s head.

She had no idea why Alex’s was ignoring you, but she intended to find out.

************************************************************************

“What’s going on between you and Y/N?” Kelley asks that night when Alex makes her way into the room after taking a shower, the woman stiffening.

“N-Nothing.” She says nonchalantly, refusing to look at the defender whose eyes narrow.

“Emily said she tried to talk to you and that you ignored her.”

Alex’s throat bobs, something her friend takes note of.

“I-I just didn’t hear her.” She says, the excuse lame, even to her own ears.

Kelley hums, eyeing the woman intently.

“Well, it really upset her.” She comments, the thought of you being upset making her stomach lurch.

“Oh, I didn’t realize.”

Kelley hums, turning to her phone when it chimes, busying herself with whatever is on its screen.

Alex turns away, her gaze falling to her lap.

She knew it would be better for the both of you if you didn’t speak to one another at all.

If you spoke again, the flirting would start back up and she wasn’t sure if she could handle that, not with the feelings currently stirring in her chest at just the thought of you.

Alex takes a deep breath, laying back in bed, her head resting against the hotel’s pillows.

She was convinced she was making the right decision, you deserved someone your own age, and that obviously wasn’t her.

************************************************************************

Unfortunately for you, the remainder of your time spent together is much of the same, you attempting to speak to Alex, and Alex completely ignoring you.

Needless to say, when you went home to Gotham FC, your tail was firmly trapped between your legs.

“Come on kid, cheer up.” Kelley says as she slings an arm around your middle.

You whine.

“I just don’t know what I did wrong.” You mumble sadly, Kelley frowning.

“I don’t think you actually did anything wrong...” She sighs, running a hand down your back.

“What do you mean?” You ask, your head cocked to the side, brows knitted in confusion.

“Whatever is going on, it’s on her end, you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your eyes widen, a small smile ticking the corners of your mouth upward.

“Really?” You whisper the older woman pulling you in and giving you a squeeze.

“Really.” She says, her brown orbs widening at the sound of a whistle blowing.

“That’s our queue.” She says as she darts across the field, twisting on her heels midway.

“Just, don’t let it get to you, okay?” She smiles and you nod, jogging after her, hopeful that practice would take your mind off of the San Diego Wave captain.

************************************************************************

Your mind isn’t off of Alex Morgan long considering Gotham FC and San Diego Wave go head-to-head in a clash at Red Bull Arena soon after the international break.

Much like she had during the Gold Cup, Alex refused to acknowledge your presence, avoiding you as much as possible, the only close contact you made with her being on the field.

It’s only after the game that Alex approaches you, your heart stalling in your chest, the thought that the woman may acknowledge your presence making your heart race.

That’s until she actually gets to you, her blue orbs darting to your Y/E/C’s before she turns away.

“Good game.” She mumbles, refusing your outstretched hand and continuing to make her way around the field.

You stay rooted in place, tears stinging your eyes as you watch Alex walk away.

Unbeknownst to you, Kelley O’Hara and Emily Sonnett had witnessed the exchange and needless to say, they were FAR from happy.

“What the hell was that about?” Emily asks Kelley before jogging towards you, wrapping her arms around you from behind, pushing herself up on her tiptoes so her chin can rest on your shoulder.

“It’s okay.” She whispers in your ear, frowning when you turn in her hold, revealing the tears glistening in your Y/E/C eyes.

Emily holds you tightly, shooting a glare over your shoulder at Alex when she catches her blue orbs.

That’s not all she sees, however.

She also sees Kelley stomping her way towards Alex, Alex’s eyes widening when she sees the look of anger on Kelley O’Hara’s face.

“What’s--

“What’s your problem?” Kelley growls, the San Diego captain’s brows arching.

“What do you mean?” She asks, dumbly and Kelley scoffs.

“You know what I mean Jan, look at her.” She motions behind her at you, Emily’s arm wrapped tightly around your middle, the woman catching sight of the tears on your cheeks as the blonde guides you towards the benches, her hazel orbs narrowed as they meet Alex’s blues.

“Do you even care about what you’re doing to her?” Kelley asks, Alex’s gaze falling to her feet, unable to look at the defender standing in front of her.

“Of course I care.” She whispers and Kelley shakes her head.

“It REALLY looks like it.” She growls, stepping closer to Alex, her voice dropping below a whisper.

“The sooner you accept what you’re feeling for her, the sooner you’ll both be happy.”

Alex’s head snaps upward, her eyes locking with Kelley’s.

“I don’t have feelings for her.” She mumbles and Kelley scoffs, rolling her eyes.

“That’s why you’re pushing her away, isn’t it?” She asks but gets no response.

“You know, your age doesn’t matter.” She says, noting the bob of Alex’s throat.

“It does Kel.” She mutters and Kelley rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, only to you, no one else cares Al.” She shakes her head and Alex’s nostrils flare.

“I’m a mom Kelley, I have more than just screwing around on my mind.”

Kelley groans.

“You do realize, it isn’t JUST about screwing around for her, right?” She asks, Alex’s brows knitting in confusion.

Kelley pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Her bravado is all an act Jan; she only acts that way because she’s afraid of facing her real feelings for you.” She sighs deeply, watching as realization dawns on Alex’s face.

It’s then that she spots you across the field, Charlie racing towards you, wrapping her tiny arms around your legs.

Almost immediately, you lift her into the air with a small smile, giving her a playful spin, the little girl giggling wildly.

“Oh.” Alex whispers, and Kelley snorts.

“Yeah, oh.” She says with an annoyed eye roll.

“Now, fix it.” She says before making her way towards the sidelines where her teammates have gathered.

Alex turns back to you, her blue orbs catching your Y/E/C’s, the smile that graced your face shifting to a small frown as you slowly place Charlie on the ground and nod in Alex’s direction, the little girl sprinting towards her mother.

It was in that moment, as you turned away from her, that she knew she had to fix it.

***********************************************************************

When you shuffled through your apartment that night, you were exhausted, not only from the physical exertion on the game, but emotionally as well.

You never expected for Alex to ignore you directly to your face, but she did, and that fact made your heart ache.

You still didn’t know what you did wrong, maybe you’d come off too strongly with your flirting?

Maybe she’d finally realized that your bravado was only for show, used to mask your true feelings for the older woman.

You flop down on your couch’s surface, your eyes fluttering shut, hopeful that sleep would take you momentarily.

Just as you’re on the cusp of sleep, however, a light tapping makes your eyes flutter, open your brows furrowed in confusion.

It isn’t long before the light taps repeat, and it’s then you realize that someone is knocking on your apartment door.

You reluctantly leave your place on the couch before shuffling to the door and leaning against it.

“Who is it?” You ask, your voice scratchy.

You listen intently, a soft shuffling behind the door before a soft voice replies.

“It’s Alex.”

Silence envelopes the two of you before you slowly open the door, your brows furrowed as you peer through the crack, coming face to face with the woman who had been avoiding you for months.

You pull the door the rest of the way open, your eyes studying Alex’s face intently, the woman shuffling nervously from foot to foot.

“I’m sorry.” She suddenly blurts out, your eyes widening as Alex’s blue orbs remain focused on the floor.

You find yourself taking a step to the side moments later, waving your arm, beckoning her to enter your apartment, something that she almost instantly does.

Your throat bobs as you push the door shut behind her, your back to the older woman.

You knew whatever was about to happen, there was no going back, but now you had no choice, you had to face Alex Morgan, you had to find out what was going on between the two of you.

Your breath catches in your throat when a pair of arms wrap around you from behind, your heart racing when you feel Alex bury her face between your shoulder blades.

You stiffen, unsure of what you should do, did you cover Alex’s hands with your own, or did you push her away?

Subconsciously, your hands drift to Alex’s gently resting on top of hers, the woman sighing against your back.

“I’m sorry I was so stupid.” She whispers, nuzzling against your back.

Your heart swells in your chest, the feeling of her pressed against your back everything you’ve ever wanted and more.

“Why did you ignore me...?” You ask, humming when Alex pushes her fingers between your own.

“I was jealous.” She mumbles against your back, your brows furrowing as you turn in her hold.

“Of what?” You ask, your hands finding their way to Alex’s waist.

She shrugs, her breath hitching when you gently take her chin between your thumb and index finger.

Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly before she sighs loudly.

“Seeing you with Emily, I couldn’t help but think you deserved someone your own age.” She whispers and you shake your head, Alex’s breath hitching when you turn the tables, pressing her back against your apartment door.

“I don’t want anyone my own age, I want you.” You whisper, Alex’s throat bobbing as her eyes dart from your Y/E/C orbs to your lips and back.

Much to your surprise, she lunges forwards, her lips meeting yours in a tender, and long overdue kiss.

You kiss back without hesitation, your palms resting on the wall on either side of Alex’s head as you kiss softly.

Alex’s hands slip to the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in your hair as you kiss passionately.

You’re unable to stop yourself from chuckling when you pull back, the woman pinned to the wall whining loudly as you bury your face in her neck, nuzzling her jawline.

“Our first kiss and you’re already addicted.” You tease, earning an eye roll.

“Shut up.” She mumbles before pulling you back in for another kiss.

Eventually, you make your way to the couch, Alex’s pinned beneath you as you kiss softly, giggling loudly when you bury your face in her neck, peppering her flesh with kisses.

You pull back reluctantly, your eyes locking with Alex’s bright blue orbs.

She smiles softly when you lean in, kissing her lips over and over again until she starts laughing.

It isn’t long before you’re lowering yourself on top of her, her legs spread as you rest your head against her chest, the woman drawing small patterns against your back.

You nuzzle into the crook of her neck, your eyes fluttering shut as your heart rate slows, your earlier exhaustion making itself known.

“What does this mean for us...?” You slur, unable to fight your fluttering eyelids as they close.

Alex hums, her lips parting to answer, that is until she realizes you’d drifted off.

She holds you tightly to her chest, feeling you smile against her neck as you nuzzle closer.

“It means I’m going to stop being such an idiot and worrying about what others think, and worry about what I want, and that’s you.” She turns her head, kissing your forehead before her own eyes flutter shut.

Thankfully, Kelley had offered to keep Charlie for the night, meaning she could remain where she currently was, your body weight on top of her as you slept soundly in her arms.

You were the first to wake the next morning, beaming when you realized that what had happened the following night wasn’t a dream, Alex Morgan was fast asleep beneath you, her arms wrapped tightly around you as she slept peacefully, a smile on her face.

You hum, burying your face back in her neck as you fall back asleep, eager to see what the future held for you and Alex Morgan.

#uswnt x reader #alex morgan x reader

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lsunstreakerl · 1 month ago

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1.5k of legal adjustments verse! bond crisis, max POV and daniel POV. (I swear there's eventually comfort here)

relevant heads up: hurt no comfort, extremely dubious consent/fuck or die style decisions.

The double header is hell. Max stays one step behind Daniel, muzzle tight around his mouth, shame burning hot at his ears. He's nearly sick with it, staying so close to an alpha that he knows doesn't want him, and Daniel doesn't even look at him half the time.

He brushes his fingers along Max's spine when he's holding a door open, and he makes sure Max has a seat everywhere they go, but Max is still ducking into bathrooms to reapply scent blockers when they start to break down, hours earlier than their listed maximum wear time.

It's gotten worse at home, the acidic tang of distress worming its way into every corner of the flat, and he's been using a delivery service for his scent neutralizing spray, so that Daniel can't see just how much of it he's been buying.

Not that Daniel watches his card. He doesn't watch Max at all.

It's finally over, and Max can't get on the plane fast enough, bag clutched tight in his hand. Even looking at Daniel has started to hurt lately, curling violently in his stomach. It makes him want to get away, to shy back from what he knows is going to hurt— Daniel's casual indifference to their bond stings like alcohol on an open wound.

He can't take it anyone. It's been eating away at his edges, leaving him in sharp, jagged pieces. It's the only thing he can think about when he's out of the car, the nauseous push-pull of the bond, the way it hurts. He wants Daniel to fix it, he wants to never see him again, he wants to claw his fingers across his neck and scream—

He settles in his seat, bile in his throat, and tries to shift uncomfortably until he can find a spot that doesn't make him grit his teeth. He'll be home soon, with his cats and sim rig, and that will be enough.

------

Daniel is used to feeling sick. The guilt of his bond with Max, the performance of the car, every missed called from his parents— he's familiar with the sensation. It sits in a ball in his stomach, occasionally crawling up to his heart to crush him.

There's a difference between the regular sick and waking up feeling like he's being ripped in two. It sends him lurching off the bed, gagging as he doubles over, dropping to his knees on the floor. He can't even suck in a breath, tears forming at his eyes as he tries to wake up, heart pounding.

Max.

There's nothing else it could be, not with the way it's ripping him into pieces, the tenuous rubber band of their bond finally snapping, ricocheting into his chest, leaving him an open, gaping wound on the floor.

------

He doesn't remember the trip to Max's flat, just knows that his keys are cutting lines into his clenched fists as he takes the steps two at a time, fear burning bright inside of him.

Max, he needs to get to—

------

He fumbles with Max's key, unfamiliar with slotting it into place. He hasn't been over since they bonded, and the key has stayed shiny, catching at the lock, struggling to make the pins click, unused to its other half.

He finally shoves the door open, saltwater in his throat, and the smell hits him first.

"Max!"

Acidic, vile, burning at his nose and mouth, it sends his base instincts in a frenzy. There's an omega here, a hurting one, a miserable, abandoned, uselessunworthyunlovable—

Daniel coughs violently, trying to push past the oppressive misery drenching the flat. Max's living room is empty, and so is his bedroom, mattress bare and a mess, sheets torn off at the edges and pillows missing. Max's scent is concentrated in the bathroom, and the door is locked.

They're past caring about his boundaries, so far beyond that point it feels like a foreign Daniel, and his instincts are screaming at him as he gets a grip on the handle, slamming into the door with his full weight. It snaps, swinging wide into the bathroom, and Daniel gets a panicked spike of fearhurtdonthurtpleasesorry as he stumbles in.

There's sheets shoved into the bathtub, blankets and a duvet, and tucked deep into the middle is Max, eyes wide. He smells terrified, hissing loudly at Daniel, so unexpected that it sends him reeling.

"Max! Hey, it's just me, I'm just—"

Max hisses again, knuckles white around his blanket, recoiling when Daniel tries to step closer.

"Get out."

"Max—"

His omega is panicking, shrinking away from him in his crisis nest, and Daniel needs to fix it, he can't leave him alone, he won't.

The bond is clawing at his chest, burning hot inside of him, and he can see the edges of Max's neck, red and irritated around the bite mark Daniel had left months ago. It's rejecting, trying to tear them apart from the inside— he needs Daniel, he'll die without intervention, but every inch he gets closer to him Max smells like he might die anyways, shifting to a high whine from the bathtub.

Daniel's going to have to pull him out of the tub. Out of the tub, out of the flat, into his own place, or a hotel, anywhere that isn't here, soaked in a miasma of pain and misery.

Max cries out when Daniel reaches into the haphazard nest, baring his fangs pitifully with a weaker hiss.

Daniel... misjudges.

"Shit—!"

Teeth sink into his wrist when he tries to pull Max out, but he refuses to stop, bodily dragging him across the bathroom floor as the tries to lift him up, his mate a snarling mess in his arms.

He's fucking up, he's already ruined it all, he's ruined it and he's made it worse and Max is trying so desperately to get away from him—

"Stop moving."

The command rings through his voice, and Max slumps in his grasp like his strings have been cut, whine softly whispering out. Daniel gags, guilt swallowing him alive as he hefts Max into his arms. He's the worst person alive, an even worse alpha, and he's a terrible catholic to boot, but he's still praying as he gets Max out of the flat, begging to a god he no longer believes in.

------

Daniel debates fiercely on his flat versus a hotel, but eventually his flat wins out. He doesn't want the unfamiliar surroundings of a hotel to make things worse, and no matter how he feels about it— he's Max's alpha. Being around his scent will soothe him at an instinctual level, even if he's still angry with him.

Max stays limp, because Daniel doesn't give him another choice. He's broken his trust, invaded his flat, pulled him out of his nest, and used a command on him. They're never going to be the same, and he's well aware of it, the knowledge curling at the edge of his every thought, a whispering despair that he's broken Max entirely.

Whenever he starts to surface from the command, shifting in his arms, Daniel just... does it again. It's awful etiquette, the kind of thing shitty alphas believe in as traditional deference, and if his family knew he was doing it to an omega, to his mate, he'd be disowned faster than he could blink.

But they don't know, and Max is hurting, a physical display of Daniel's failures, impossible to ignore. He's shaking as he gets him into his own flat, sick with the knowledge of what he needs to do.

What he has to do.

Bond crisis can kill omegas— it's the kind of hurt that lingers, whispered between families, the kind of avoidable tragedy that stings long after it's passed. Daniel refuses to lose Max.

Even if Max hates him, even if it makes things even worse than they were before, Daniel is going to save him.

He has his palm wrapped around his neck, keeping him scruffed as he sets Max on the guest bed. It's going to be full of anxious and upset scents soon, and he selfishly doesn't want that memory in his bedroom.

He keeps him scruffed as he leans down, trying his best not to entirely cover him with his body, even though Max's eyes are fuzzy with submission, head lolling back as Daniel cringes, teeth hovering above his neck.

It won't feel good like it had the first time— it will hurt, pulling their frayed and snapping bond back together forcefully.

Max is going to try to get away.

He tightens his fingers, pushing down the nausea. Max is starting to surface from the scruff despite his best attempts, scent souring sharply as he starts to squirm, forcing Daniel to lower more of his weight onto him.

"I'm sorry."

It's not enough. It will never be enough.

He forces himself to breathe through his mouth and not his nose, fitting his teeth over Max's scent gland as he shudders. Max's struggling picks up, and he's forced to pin his legs with his own, gripping both of Max's wrist in his hand, the hot press of tears behind his eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

Daniel bites.

Max screams.

#ficlet #legal adjustments verse #yeah they never did handle the miscommunication of the last ficlet #they let that FESTER #and here's the result!#daniel and his guilt complex #max and his inferiority complex #daniel you and your teeth in this verse dude. so much biting

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kuroppiii · 11 months ago

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tough as nails ᵕ̈ boyfie!msby boys x nail tech!gn reader ˎˊ˗

⋮⋮ ˒ ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎ 𖥻 ⿻ : when you want ⋮⋮ to practice some designs ⋮⋮ and they volunteer them- ⋮⋮ selves as your test dummy !

📋 content ♡ # 𝘧𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧 🐮 ♡ # 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘤𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 🥛 ♡ # 𝘥𝘳𝘢𝘣𝘣𝘭𝘦𝘴 🥛 ♡ # ~2.5𝘬 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴

🧸 directory ‹ ✩ like what you read ? check out more of my blog ! •ᴗ•

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ ik that ' s not really the context of the saying in the title but i couldn ' t think of anything else ! nail pics as with all my other header pics are from pinterest <3 also lmk if you want to see more characters for this prompt bc highkey i loveee looking through nail designs lol ”

︴hinata shōyō ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

this is not this man's first time around some nail polish

natsu used to paint his nails all the time, so he’s so down!

big color inspo from the colors of a classic blue and yellow mikasa volleyball because of his love for the sport (obvi)

howeverrr switching out the yellow for a bit more of an orange hue to go with his hair <3

also!!! some tropical floral designs as an homage to his time in brazil

a super fun vibe for a bright and go-lucky guy :)

when you first take his hand in yours, the tips of his ears start to redden a little bit

"hey shō are your ears alright–?" [you]

"your hands are so soft." [hinata]

"okay, shō." [you] (totally not fighting back a smile)

he's held your hand countless times but for some reason this–you holding his hand so gently and focusing in on it as you start prepping his nail beds–feels so much more intimate

seeing your face as you're so focused on him and his hands makes him blush lowk but good thing you're looking down and can't see how flustered he obviously is

like for someone so talkative, he's silent and almost as attentive as you the whole time and he's not even the one doing the work

you also notice he holds his breath every time you make the nail polish make contact with his nails until you finally lift back up CUTIEEE

“love, you know you can breathe, right?” [you]

“i don’t want to mess you up though! you’re doing so great by the way, babe.” [hinata]

cups your face when his nails are finally set and dry and you can see his eyes dart between your facial features and his nails contrasting against your skin and his smile gets bigger in real time

then he gives you a biggg kiss as a thank you for your hard work

definitely goes to every one of his teammates in the msby locker room his next practice to show them the nails

on tvs, cellphones, laptops and countless other kinds of screens everywhere: the camera following the msby jackals' game whips around to land their sights on hinata shōyō.

ten seconds remain on the clock. the jackals are behind their opponents by the most miniscule handful of points. in a last-ditch effort, atsumu's in place, and in a matter of seconds hinata is already high in the air.

the ball is met with a collision from the redhead's hand and quickly surpasses any of the opposition's lines of defense. an abrasive buzzer blares throughout the area and the msby jackals all start to jump onto one another with screams and yells and high fives in celebration.

"another excellent shot by hinata! what a way for the jackals to clutch this game folks!" a commentator excitedly blabbers.

"let's take another look at that one, shall we?" another accompanying commentator beckons.

time slows on screen during the instant replay–from the moment hinata gets in front of the net, to the moment his feet leave the ground, and especially as his arm is reeled back moments before the winning shot.

the camera takes the liberty of zooming in on hinata’s hand then. it captures the precise moment when his purest love and energy for volleyball surges through his body. the unseen electricity has ricocheted throughout him to finally trail up to his fingertips, adorned with colors that showcase the blend of his identity with the same ball his skin almost adoringly caresses for a second in the eyes on the slow-mo cam footage.

blue and yellow, blue and orange side-by-side in front of thousands and millions of eyes to witness as the ninja shōyō’s manicured hand follows through and pushes that volleyball past the net to bring his team to victory.

︴sakusa kiyoomi ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

as babygirl as sakusa kiyoomi is, black’s just really his vibe i think

not on like some emo shit but the black would go really well with not only his hair but his iconic beauty marks above his eye

speaking of his hair, the cyber tribal chrome kind of sitch kinda alludes to his curls :0

i mean to the rest of the world he’s this stoic and serious guy all the time

but they don't see how he looks at you while you paint the finer details on his nails

or the subtle and soft dopey smile he’s got on as he asks you in lovestruck whispers about your technique, how work's going, what materials you use, etc.

"and... what's this for now?" [sakusa]

"it's to make sure your nails stay nice and strong for whenever you hit your incredible spikes, omi." [you]

"oh, that's definitely important. wouldn't want to skip that." [sakusa] (before you laugh at his little joke and his heart skips a beat and he gives you a quick kiss on the top of your head as you continue to work)

once the nails are finished, he goes to look at them with his fingers clawed–boyishly characteristic of a dude who's never gotten his nails done like this before

you can't help but laugh and he asks what's wrong

"what do you mean i'm looking at them weird?" [sakusa]

"your hands look like when you posed with the msby jackal mascot that one time." [you]

"how else am i supposed to look at them?" [sakusa]

you demonstrate how people normally check out their nails at the salon

and then it delves into a mini hand modeling lesson and many, many, giggles between the two of you as he tries to figure it out

you end up with some new reference pics of his set for any of your future clients, what a supportive boyfriend!

a certain photo is going viral as it makes its rounds online. the photographer who took it had to have known they struck gold capturing this certain moment, and the racking number of likes and comments are only affirmations of that.

it's a professional shot of sakusa kiyoomi mid-game. late-game, actually, as its evident though the state of his appearance in the picture.

visible droplets dot his face and figure, giving his skin and curly hair a certain sheen that proves the dedication he puts into every one of the msby jackals' games. to combat the sweat that's accumulated on himself, it seems like sakusa had absentmindedly reached for the edge of his jersey to act as a substitute for a towel in that particular moment (his expression is clearly focused on nothing but what might've been happening next on the other side of the court net). the muscles that adorn his torso peek out from the action.

and on top of it all–the sweat, the abs, the way the rest of the jersey clings to the rest of his body–the subtle chrome detailing of his nails stand out where his hand tugs the fabric to wipe at the bottom of his face...

and you hadn't even really caught on to this picture online yourself. the only reason you went to look it up for yourself was because of the influx of work emails you had received since the jackals' last win.

the public was vaguely aware you specialized in cosmetics, as sakusa had alluded to now and then in press conferences and interviews. however, it wasn't really until people online started to wonder where your boyfriend got these nails from did google's reverse-image search bring them to the pictures on your profile that you and sakusa took post- his manicure.

to say your clientele grew overnight, would be quite the understatement.

︴miya atsumu ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

ik the picture is a bit blurry but PLEASE stick with me here yall 🙏 HEAR ME OUT

heavy on that barbie ken atsumu sort of agenda

you ask if he had any colors in mind

and he’s like "y'know what? fuck it. go big or go home."

he knows people might shit on him for having his nails done at his next game so yeah get the most stereotypically “feminine” color you got–just to mess with whatever losers might whine about it

“but... do ya think pink would look good on me y/n?” [atsumu] (AND HE'S KIND OF SHY WHEN HE'S ASKING YOU)

"OF COURSE IT WOULD BABY??" [you]

as you're ducked down working, he misses seeing your face

so he cranes his neck and looks up at you from where his hands are

"hey baby, funny seeing you here." [atsumu]

"tsumu, stay still!" [you]

"sorry angel, just missed lookin' at ya." [atsumu]

in that position, he loves the feeling of you holding his hands and the sensation of the nail polish brush against the top of his fingers so much, that he semi-falls asleep against his forearm as you wrap up

he just feels so much at peace <3

and when you’re done he is definitely giving ken, and that his job is volleyball

and tbh i hc his hair post timeskip isn’t so much piss yellow as ppl joke it was while he was at inarizaki

but that if he stuck through with keeping it blonde for so long he eventually managed to get it professionally done, and with some GODDAMN TONER 😭

i think it’s like a brassy sort of blonde

which looks perfect as an accent to the nails

like pop off regina george!!!!

something endearing about your loving atsumu is he never fails to get you the best seats in the arena whenever you come watch the msby jackals play.

from front row, you can see everything, and in so much detail—the action, the sweat, the tears that goes into each and every matchup the team faces. truly, the experience was leagues above settling for a closer look on any big screen or arena jumbotron. everything was just so much clearer!

but most importantly, you can see your boyfriend. very clearly.

so clearly, in fact, that after a particular great serve to bokuto for a spike that earned the jackals yet another point, you have the luxury of soaking in all the glowing details of atsumu in his element.

the way he clutches his strong fists and yells with joy at the small win, a bit of pink peeking out from the insides of his palms.

how his hands clap and grasp at the hands of his teammates in quick celebratory high-fives that leave streaky blurs of pink trailing behind his excited movements.

when his hand quickly drags over his smiling and glistening face, before carding through his hair—small pink detailings disappearing and reappearing amidst the blonde strands that rest on the top of his head.

by the time all the players on the court are settled back into their places for when the moment the ball will be up in the air once again—anticipation pulsing on both sides of the net—you can even catch as atsumu quickly glances at his nails with a small, blink-and-you’d-miss-it smile.

thankfully, your top-tier seat allows you to catch it. and although he’s smiling at his hands, you know that it’s for your work and by extension, it’s all love for you in that split second before your boyfriend has to lock in again.

when the next ball is served, you find yourself almost falling out of your chair from how far you’re leaning forward to take in as much of your great view as possible.

︴bokuto kōtarō ․﹒∗*○․﹒✧∘°

MISMATCH IS A MUST

you say the few designs you want to try out and ask him which one you can try on him and he just goes: ALL OF THEM!

(he knows it’ll take longer to do with all the different elements, but that just means he gets to stare at you for longer as you work)

"are you sure? i mean, do you have a color you want in particular? i can tweak them so they all have the same palette." [you]

"nope! cover me with whatever your beautiful mind is envisioning!" [bokuto] (he's jutting his fingers out in front of you and wiggling them around with the biggest grin on his face)

these nails also just fits him as a person because he’s super all over the place and spontaneous so it works it JUST WORKS OK

plus his hair’s literally greyish whitish so it’s like a perfect neutral and blank canvas to accent the color palette

it's one thing having him sit still for an extended amount of time, but having you this close? right in front of him?

how is he not supposed to give your lips a quick kiss now and then

BUT!!! he always goes to double check he didn't mess up the nails every time he pulls back

"kō, the nails are fine! you didn't even move your hands, you're just moving your head to kiss me, silly." [you]

"just making sure, babe! i know this stuff takes a lot of work. plus, i can't really think of what else is happening when i'm kissing you, really." [bokuto] (already going in for another kiss)

you can see in the corner of your eye as you work on your designs that bokuto's nose scrunches up now and then

it's because he's not used to the smell of the nail products you're using

upon completing the whole nail set, he concludes it’s legitimately one of THE COOLEST THINGS anyone’s ever fucking done for him

doesn’t stop staring at his hands in a little bit of awe even after you’re done and chilling on the living room couch, completely oblivious to what's going on on the tv in front of you two

the crowd is going absolutely ballistic. the jackals are in the lead. and your boyfriend, the bokuto kōtarō is up and about to serve.

you watch the arena's big teleprompter with the rest of the spectators as the cameras pan to bokuto.

he has that look on his face–confident and happy playing the sport that runs through his veins. his hand crashes down onto the ball once. wham!

twice. blam!

when the ball comes back up, he grips it between his hands. it's evident even through the screen how his arms tense and pulse. it's like he's revving up.

as everyone hangs off the edge of their seats and keep their eyes glued in anticipation to the broadcasting of bokuto holding that unmistakable combo of blue and yellow–it's impossible to ignore how the ends of his hands glint and reflect the bright overhead lights.

colors of all kinds twitch in excitement against the leather and the star player quickly glances down at the ball, sure, but most definitely also at the intricate art you so graciously blessed his nails with. bokuto's lips crack a smile.

then he's tossing the volleyball up. a loud and powerful smack reverberates throughout the arena. in the blink of an eye the ball whizzes past two of the opposite team's players and the crowd explodes once again as the ball is now rolling on the outskirts of the court across the net.

your boyfriend's chest swells with pride, and his carefully manicured finger darts to point over you in the stands. you cheer even louder for him as he beams a tooth-filled smile your way.

💬 kuroppiii ─ “ oh and i forgot to point out that most of these designs are short and with minimal charms so they don't get in the way of a volleyball player ' s , well ... volleyball playing ! short nail - ers rise up ! ”

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planete777 · 2 years ago

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UNFORGETTABLE・⁠｡♪ LN4

( lando norris x fem!reader )

IN WHICH. like a moth to a flame, lando gets sucked right into the beckoning curls of smoke, and the glimmering eyes of a girl he doesn't even know.

WARNINGS. 18+, MINORS DNI!, getting high, first time smoking, club scene, oral sex (fem rec.), fingering, slight choking, protected p in v sex, high hotness pt. wtv, not proofread

NOTE. submitted to my impulsive thoughts and wrote abt high!lando.... again, and it's kinda very long. used canva this time for the header so that's why it's uh different (i hate it 💔). man, i'm enjoying this era, i wish for it to never end, but hey ho, read and enjoy my luvs xxx. oh and listen to unforgettable while reading this... or not, it's a free world.

SIDENOTE. my askbox is open! feel free to send in any thoughts, scenarios, requests etc about high!lando 🤍

lando feels like time has stopped, and, quite frankly, his heart along with it. the frantic world around him mutes, and the only thing he hears is his slow, uneven breaths and a violently thrumming pulse that flushes his ears red.

he knows he's drunk a mediated amount tonight, but the way his body feels a pull towards the eyes all the way across the room has him feeling completely out of control. he swears she's glowing around the edges, highlighted by the dancing lights that ricochet off the walls of the club and right onto her, as if the room was her spotlight and the rest of them were just in it for decoration.

she stares back, reds and blues washing over like unholy tidal waves that literally praise her, then she prods her mouth with the spliff in her hand. he watches as her eyes fall shut as seconds pass, breaking the only contact they had, before her lips part, eyes opening once again to immediately fall upon lando and she blows with such controlled seduction that lando believes the smoke hooks a finger at him, coaxing him nearer.

his legs move on their own accord, his heart beats quicker the closer he gets, and then she gets up with a smirk that speaks too much to lando, walking through an open archway. the tension is unfathomable, and lando's palms flood with perspiration as he follows her through a dark corridor. it's entirely stupid, he knows, following a stranger, but if he's being truthful, dying at the hands of a girl who's unbelievingly akin to a siren would be his honour.

they arrive at an empty balcony, littered with a few chairs that are situated haphazardly, and the girl passes them swiftly and goes to lean against the fence.

"what's a pretty boy like you doing looking at a girl like me?" her voice sounds like it's dripping in sin, sickeningly sweet sin, and lando feels his skin burn for it again.

"girl like you?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, "what do you mean?"

she's laughing, throwing her head back as her throat releases a sound that triggers heat to his dick, and fuck, he's hot everywhere. his eyes stay fused to her as she takes another drag, blows it high into the sky, and he feels his composure slowly elevate away with it.

she brings her head down, rolling the spliff between her fingers, "you know what i'm talking about. you literally look like you were forced to be here."

"well, i kinda of was," he thinks back to max's adamance, just hours prior, and curses him for being the same person to leave him not long after their arrival, "but trust me, i do go out when i can."

she hums, it's dismissive and ambiguous, so lando can't gage whether she believes him or not, but he doesn't let it fester.

"you always come here?" he asks, slightly curious. it's his first time at this particular club, courtesy max (again) who heard of it from a friend of a friend, and if coming here means meeting the girl every time, he would go with no question.

"haven't been for a while actually. corporate jobs are hell, so i've been, instead, getting high at home. boring as fuck if you ask me."

she takes another drag, and lando stares at it with a newfound desire, swallowing as his mouth waters for it. he's unknowing and delirious as to where it comes from, and the way his veins tickle for it is absolutely gratifying.

the girl notices, chuckling as she signals for him to take it, "wanna hit?"

lando's mind freezes, and he begins to fumble and blush so profusely, it's humiliating.

"i've... never been high before."

her eyebrows shoot upwards but fall back almost immediately, "huh... should've figured."

"why?" lando asks skeptically as she inhales once again, then lets it out, the distinctive burn of weed hitting his nostrils.

she rolls her tongue in her mouth and smiles, "you look at it as if it's too good to have, but wrong to take. gives you away."

lando grins sheepishly, looking down at his feet then up again, "can't blame me. you make it look good."

"you've been missing out," she jesters, pulling down her dress. it draws every curve like it is meant to, reaching the middle of her thigh, and the red continues as lace heels that fascinate lando as to how she even put them on.

"would you like to try it?"

he so wants to say no, weighing the consequences in his mind if he were to be found out, but he doesn't care. not when the girl's lips wrap around with spliff and suck it in as if it's godsent. for once, lando wants to detangle and feel like he's disintegrating within bounds of euphoria.

he looks straight at her and nods, his hands trembling with the anticipated thrill, and she grabs his arm, pulling him back inside. they walk down towards a different corridor, and reach an unlabeled door, which the girl walks right into as if it's habitual.

"wait, you work here?"

she laughs, sitting down on the leather seat as lando joins her. it's a basic room with red walls and black sofas, almost too unsuspecting.

"no, my sister does. this room is always vacant, i never see anyone go in here," she tells him, ending with an edge that leaves lando unwanting to ask anything more.

she reaches into her purse, pulling out a metal tin that she flicks open, revealing a few neatly arranged spliffs. the reality sets in and lando rubs his palms on his jeans nervously.

"put it between your lips," she holds one out for him, and he takes it without question, slotting it into his mouth. the girls tells him to hold still as she brings a lighter to the tip of the spliff and once she moves away, he breathes in too much. the burn at the back of his throat is indescribably invigorating, and he pinches the roll to slide it out, before his mouth weeps smoke and a cough escapes him.

"you're a natural," she says as she hits a drag of her own, mouth curling upwards at the edges.

there's something about what he feels that's vehemently unparalleled. he feels like his brain is sinking into a pillowly goodness of absolutely nothing, and his whole body feels weightless. he goes in for another smoke, mind melting like blow torched ice, and he body completely relaxes into the couch.

"i'm stoned already, what the fuck?" his mouth feels sewn shut and simultaneously stretched apart, and he doesn't even know if he enunciates his words clearly.

"you're new to this, don't worry," she reassures, moving closer to lando. heat radiates off her like she's an incinerator, and every sense is amplified erratically when her hand curls around his nape.

"allow me?"

lando nods, "do whatever."

then her mouth, warm and so soft, cups around his, ejecting hot smoke into it, and, fucking hell, lando feels like he's being inflated with some addictively foreign sensation and his mind shuts down. he stares at her, eyes too heavy to stay fully open, and he wants her so bad, he could beg.

"i wanna kiss you so fucking bad," his voice is hoarse and he sees her something in her eyes gleam.

"do it, then."

there's nothing cautious about it. they've been tiptoeing around the achingly palpable tension for too long, and their lips move hungrily against each other's to satiate the thirst that has heightened vivaciously. lando loses it completely when she sucks on his tongue, like it was second nature for her, and his moans drag out, heavy and deep.

he can't wait any longer, not when his dick hardens in his pants and all he can think of is the girl's essence making him drunk.

he unwillingly breaks the kiss, meeting the sight of her swollen lips and red eyes, "we can carry this on in my hotel room."

then she grins, "thought you'd never say."

they leave the club, high out of their minds and barely able to make it to the exit, but when they do, the chilled air knocks them slightly sober. lando rings an uber, which arrives within 5 minutes, and they stumble into the car, hands teasing and touching with desperate discretion.

lando is so faded out that a drive that's normally 10 minutes lasts for 2, and he's dragged out by the girl who throws her gratitude to the driver. the ride in the elevator entails an aggressive make out, lando's hands squeezing the girl's ass and her arms tight around his neck, rushing out and stumbling through the doors as it dings at the 4th floor. he can't let go of her lips, not when he knows how sweet it is, and he doesn't, until they're through the door and scrambling on the bed, clothes long gone with only their undergarments left.

he kisses down her neck, mumbling compliment after compliment and she sighs, deflating into the bed.

"you're so fucking beautiful, you know that?"

he strokes both hands on her thighs, spreading them open and meeting red panties that are completely soiled through.

"look at you," he kisses her inner thigh like it's sacred, "all wet for a guy you don't know."

she moans, high pitched and airy, grabbing lando's hair and pushing him nearer to her cunt.

"just eat me out, fuck," her back arches and it's a sight that has lando completely acquiescent, ridding her of her panties and lips kissing her cunt. she whimpers, hands grabbing the sheets as his tongue runs through her, before sucking on her clit eagerly.

"oh my fuck— keep going."

she grinds against his face, hands tight within his curls and her legs shake. she tastes unreal, and lando can't get enough, licking rabidly at her cunt.

he's too lost in it all to notice how she tugs one of his arms up from around her thigh, until he feels her hand bring his towards her neck, and then he loses his mind. she's so fucking filthy, and he smiles against her pussy as his ministrations turn more desperate to get her to the edge, squeezing his hand more as her moans increase in pitch and become songs to his ears.

he brings two fingers to her entrance, sliding in with much ease, before wasting no time to curl them. she's squirming, and he's stretching her out, bringing another finger before curling them again. she arches so much, and screams out a loud moan as her eyes roll back.

"oh shit. fuck fuck, i'm cumming!"

he doesn't expect her to let go so soon, and neither does he expect the sudden spray of wetness that gushes out of her cunt. he lapping and licking it all up though, and, over stimulated, the girl pushes his head away. he relents, kissing back up her body before landing on her lips, melting her pants into his mouth.

knees bent, an arm wrapped around his shoulders, the girl breaks the kiss, hand sliding down lando's chest and grabbing his dick, "fuck me."

his mind goes on autopilot as he replaces her hand, pumping his dick and sliding a condom on before sheathing all of him inside her. she's so hot and tight, and he's so thick and long that their moans come out simultaneously, loud and drawled.

lando doesn't waste time to pull back and snap his hips right back in, making her back raise off the bed in a delicious curve.

"fuck, you're so big."

the praise goes right to his head and he starts thrusting in and out like he has gone crazy. her breasts sway by the power of his thrust, and lando takes into his mouth, sucking on it and playing with the other.

he feels spoiled, there's so much of her that he's addicted to in such a short time, and he goes to kiss her again. the headboard of the bed slams against the wall, her nails scratch deep marks into his back, and he's moaning into her mouth as his dick throbs far into her pussy.

her legs are bent near her head now, and his thrusts slide in so deep into her cunt, that he can see a bulge appear in her stomach. he takes one of her hands from the headboard and put it against her belly.

"you feel that?" he says, grunting and thrusting harder.

"oh fuck," she drags out, arching her back even more and squeezing his dick like a vice.

"i'm gonna cum," her voice sounds so fucked out and sated, and lando quickens before his thrusts turn sloppy.

"cum with me," he huffs out. she moans, her eyes roll back, and lando spurtsinto the condom as her feels hers coat his. his thighs are tense and sweaty as he rides out their highs before he lands straight unto her.

"where the hell did you learn how to fuck like that?" she sounds spent, and lando would give too much to hear her like that everyday.

he smiles and winks, "secret."

lando wakes up to the sun leaking on his face, a muscles aching. he turns to the spot beside him, but meets an empty bed, cold as if it had been untouched the whole night.

the disappointment is great, and he drags a hand down his face, sighing into the pillow. he doesn't even know her name to even ask about her at the club, and the dejection sits like a lump in his heart.

he turns back to his bedside table, reaching for his phone, but instead, meeting a small, rectangular metal box with a note stuck on it. he rushes to sit up, grinning like a child on christmas day, and as he reads, it grows wider.

'a little present from me. you smoke like the euphoria was made for you - call me xxx-xxxx-xxx'

#‧₊˚✩彡 planete.thinks: high!lando #lando norris #lando norris fic #lando norris x reader #lando norris smut #f1 fic #f1 imagine #formula 1 #formula one x reader #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #lando norris x y/n #f1 romance #f1 smut #f1 fanfic

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ozarkthedog · 8 months ago

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𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞'𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲?

summary: Dieter Bravo is freezing.

warnings: silly fluff. gn assitant!reader x boss!Dieter (platonic). swearing. Dieter talking about his cock -> he/him. half naked Dieter. no beta. w.c: 874

an: for @sp00kymulderr “Dick Pronoun Fic Challenge”. I had a ball writing this. 😆💙

I found the item that inspired this drabble over the weekend when I was hosting @seventeenpins and I had to write something feat. the chaos man himself. Pic of said item is in the header lmao 🙃

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 ⋅ 𝐃𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐁𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐨 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭

October in California has a way of catching you off guard. One day, it's sweltering; the next, you're bundling under the covers and wearing multiple layers of clothing.

The sun was hiding behind the clouds as it rose over the horizon. A salty breeze rustles the palms that line Dieter's property as you sit on the back patio. You hug the sweater around your body but sit comfortably in your jean shorts as you add events to his already chalk full calendar.

As much as Dieter was chaos, he was also serene. He didn't mind you showing up to work in whatever clothes you wanted, sometimes joking about wearing nothing at all. You always rolled your eyes, but half of you believed he was telling the truth. You've seen him half-naked, only wearing his iconic green robe, at least a dozen times.

Thankfully, you were becoming immune. The shock no longer stops you in your tracks.

"Dieter, pants" became your catchphrase. Too many times, you pointed your finger toward the immaculate staircase in his house, sending the artist off in a huff to be more presentable.

It never was a dull day working for Dieter.

"NOODLES!!"

You stop typing when you hear Dieter's panic-stricken voice echo over the balcony.

"Noodles" is his nickname for you. It all started one day after you ate a bowl of Ramen. He was mesmerized for whatever reason while you ate lunch at his kitchen island. He was stoned, having consumed an entire plate of Korean BBQ after a lengthy painting session. As much as you didn't want it, the name stuck.

"What!?" You crane your neck toward the balcony situated slightly overhead.

"HAVE YOU SEEN WALLY?!" Dieter leans over the railing with worry etched on his brow. His green robe graces his shoulders as he looks down at you, his soft brown curls naturally askew.

You think for a moment, puzzled, before looking up at him. "What!?"

"WALLY! I'M FUCKING FREEZING!" He cries before running back through the balcony doors.

What in god's name is a Wally?

"Why don't you put on some more clothes?!" You suggest, leaning back in your chair, thankful for the break.

You can only imagine what his neighbors must think.

"IT'S TOO WARM FOR CLOTHES!"

You raise your hands in frustration. There wasn't any way to subdue him.

Just then, a pair of leather pants lands in a crumbled heap on the stone patio.

The sheer black button-up Dieter wore to the premiere of The Bubble floats down and lands next to the pair of pants. The cowboy boots he got as a gift for working on an indie film, which he never wore, other than that time you found him in nothing but in said boots strutting around his studio with his fingers posed as guns, bounces off the stone and ricochets in difference directions.

You take a long swig of coffee and rub your temples as more and more clothing rain over the balcony. "WHERE IS WALLLLLLYYYYY?"

Finally, a cheer bursts from the bedroom and down to the patio as you start back on your task.

"NEVERMIND! I FOUND HIM!"

Great. The first crisis of the day averted.

Dieter races down the staircase and rounds the patio table with a bounce in his step. Thankfully, you had no more coffee, or you would've spit it all over your laptop.

Dieter proudly stands naked in front of you, wearing only his Crocs and sipping a fresh cup of coffee. His open green robe billows in the cool breeze leaving no inch of his golden body hidden as his cock and balls are wrapped in some bundle of red knit.

It looks like something your grandma would've made, and you instantly regret thinking of her in this situation.

"Dieter." All words cease to form as you stare dumbly at your half-naked boss.

"He's nice and toasty now." Dieter happily sighs and sits across from you, his robe parting directly down the middle. "He just needed his good ol' pal, Wally."

You notice his "bundle" through the glass table. It rests comfortably between his burly, spread thighs. A red knit bow is tied at the crest of his flaccid shaft. You'd never seen anything like it, and that scared you.

"Where did you get Wally?" You ponder before you can stop yourself.

Dieter purses his lips, deep in thought, before pointing to his lap, "He always gets cold whenever I wear my robe. So what's the best solution? A sock? Psh, it's not thick enough." He huffs, waving a hand like he's shooing a fly.

"Then I tried to wrap a knit hat around him, but the elastic acted more like a cock ring." He sends you a wink, and a playful brow twitches, rising and falling consecutively before leaning across the table like he's telling you a secret. "And then one night I was surfing the web and found this!"

His warm eyes beam with delight. "From then on, he's never been cold. Plus, I can move around without anything cramping my style."

You slowly nod. If there were ever a piece of clothing that was Dieter, this would be it.

A smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. "Alright then. Let's make sure he's never without his Wally again."

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

reblogs & comments are extremely appreciated! follow @ozzieslibrary for new fic updates!

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #pedro pascal

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delusionalfanficwriter · 2 years ago

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head injury

Y/N had been an integral part of Arsenal Women's Football Club for three years. Her journey with the team had seen them through victories, challenges, and unforgettable moments on and off the field. During this time, Y/N had cultivated deep connections with her teammates, and they had become more than just friends and fellow athletes; they were her soccer family. As this season progressed, Arsenal found themselves facing a crucial match against their fierce rivals, Chelsea. Y/N, being her tenacious self, was right in the thick of the action. Her partnership with Leah on the field had always been one of Arsenal's strengths, and they synchronized like clockwork. Arsenal was known for its fluid passing and attacking style of play, and Y/N played a pivotal role in their success.

The first half of the match saw both teams battling fiercely for dominance on the field. The intensity was high, and both Arsenal and Chelsea were pushing their limits.

During a set piece, as Y/N went up to contest a header, an accidental collision with an opposing player pushed her back into the goal post, her head ricocheting off the metal post.

As the ball was kicked to upfield, everyone cleared around the goal, but the stadium fell into a hushed panic as Y/N lay motionless on the ground. Leah, her girlfriend, was the first to reach her.

Kneeling by Y/N's side, her voice trembling as she cried out, "We need medics!" Leah shouted, her heart racing seeing Y/N's eyes closed. Leah reached out, placing her trembling hand on Y/N's cheek, hoping to rouse her. "Y/N, I need you to open your eyes for me. Hey, Y/N, come on. Open your eyes."

More teammates gathered around as panic swelled, their faces etched with worry. Jessie Fleming, Y/N's sister, dropped to the ground beside Leah. She reached out to shake her sister's shoulders, but Leah stopped her.

"You can't move her, Jessie," Leah cautioned, her voice strained with fear. "Her neck or back might be injured." Jessie nodded in understanding and opted to stroke little strands of her hair that have fallen from her ponytail, out of her face.

Leah and Jessie tried their best to awaken y/n but nothing seemed to work.

Finally, the team's medical staff arrived as well as medics, their expertise evident as they swiftly assessed the situation. They took every precaution to stabilize Y/N's neck and spine, carefully fitting a cervical collar around her and turning her over.

“We need some space guys.” The older medic informed Jessie and Leah but they remained in their spots. Jordan, McCabe, Kerr and a few other of their own teammates had to physically pull them back. They now stood a few feet away watching one of the medics speak to Y/N, trying to coax her into consciousness while another examined her vitals.

As the medics worked for a few minutes, Y/N's eyelids fluttered open, revealing her dazed and confused expression. She tried to sit up, but the medical staff gently held her down, reminding her not to move. Y/N mumbled incoherently, and Leah leaned closer, straining to catch her words before going right next to y/n side, hating the sight of seeing her so lost and scared. "It's okay, Y/N," Leah whispered, her voice trembling. "You had a tough collision, but the medics are here to help you."

“Y/n, you need to lay back down. Everything is going to be okay, but try not to move so much.” Jessie crouched down and spoke as she noticed her wanting to get up once again.

Y/N's consciousness wavered like a flickering flame. She struggled to comprehend her surroundings, her eyes darting aimlessly as confusion clouded her thoughts. Jessie's plea to stay still seemed to fall on deaf ears, and Y/N's movements grew more erratic.

Leah held her girlfriend's trembling hand, her voice quaking with concern. "Y/N, please, lay back down. You need to stay still. Everything is going to be okay." She desperately hoped her words would reach Y/N through the haze of her dazed state.

The medical staff worked with a sense of urgency, attempting to keep Y/N from further harm as she teetered on the edge of consciousness. They continued their assessments, monitoring her vitals, and told Leah and Jessie to try to keep y/n engaged in conversation to keep her awake.

Y/N's attempts to engage back in the conversation were sporadic and disjointed, and it became increasingly apparent that the injury was more severe than anyone had initially thought. Her responses were fragmented, and she struggled to maintain her focus.

Leah squeezed her hand, her voice trembling with worry. "Y/N, do you remember our first date? We went to that little café near your place, and it was pouring rain. You laughed when I slipped on a puddle."

Y/N's eyelids fluttered, but her gaze was unfocused. She mumbled, "Rain... yeah," but her voice was barely audible, and her response lacked the warmth and clarity it once held.

Jessie, trying to hold back tears, added, "And what about that time we played football in the park with Dad? You always said you'd be better than all of us."

Y/N's lips twitched in an attempt at a smile, but it was fleeting. "am... better," she mumbled, her words disjointed and distant. The memories, which should have elicited laughter and connection, now seemed to be slipping away from her grasp.

As Y/N's condition worsened, she suddenly gagged, her face contorted in pain, it was a distressing sight, and the medics reacted swiftly, turning her onto her side to clear her airway and prevent any choking from the vomit that arose.

Leah's voice quivered as she tried to maintain Y/N's focus. "Y/N, stay with us. We're right here with you. Keep those beautiful eyes of yours open."

But Y/N's response was a mere groan, and her eyes slowly rolled back, her body growing limp. The medics exchanged concerned glances, realizing that her condition was rapidly deteriorating.

Without a moment to lose, they immediately placed an oxygen mask over her face, ensuring she received a steady flow of oxygen. Simultaneously, they carefully slid a backboard beneath her, immobilizing her spine and neck to prevent any further damage during transportation. Moments later, an ambulance sped onto the field. Y/N, still unconscious, was swiftly and gently transferred onto a stretcher, her body secured and placed into the ambulance. Leah and Jessie immediately followed behind inserting themselves into the ambulance not caring if they were in the middle of a match.

As the ambulance raced towards the hospital, the sound of the siren echoed in the confined space causing Y/N to begin to stir. Her eyelids fluttered open, and she found herself disoriented, with the oxygen mask covering her face. In her groggy state, she attempted to remove the mask, her hands reaching up to pull it away.

Leah noticed Y/N's movement and gently placed her hand over Y/N's to stop her. "It's okay, love," she reassured, her voice soft and soothing. "You need to keep that on for now. It's helping you breathe."

"Y/N, it's okay," Jessie whispered, her hand resting on Y/N's arm. "You're in the ambulance, and we're on our way to the hospital.”

Y/N's eyes shifted from Leah to Jessie, her gaze still hazy. She attempted to speak but found it difficult. The words came out slurred and unfocused. "Why...hospital?"

Leah's fingers gently brushed Y/N's hair back from her forehead. "You had an accident on the field, love. The medics are taking you to the hospital to make sure you're okay. We're here with you, and everything will be fine."

Jessie leaned closer, her voice soothing. "Just relax, Y/N. The hospital will take good care of you, and we'll be right there beside you."

Y/N, though still disoriented and in pain, found some comfort in their presence. She nodded weakly and allowed them to reposition the oxygen mask, focusing on their voices to keep herself calm.

#woso x reader #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc #arsenal x reader #leah williamson x reader #leah williamson #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #soccer #soccer fanfic #hurt/comfort

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yeeterthek33per · 2 years ago

Text

Jealousy's a B**** (Steph Catley x Reader x Caitlin Foord)

A/n So this is officially my fifth attempt at this, I've accidentally managed to post it twice, way too early, and I'm honestly still not happy with it.

Also, sorry it took so long, y'all. 😅

But yeah, Caitley Fluff. (Caitley? Staitlin? Stetlin? Coord? Catoord? Fortley? Footley?)

Caitlin's been acting weird lately.

She's more clingy than usual, hands finding some part of you whenever you're just feet from each other.

You're sure Steph's noticed it too, but she hasn't said anything either. Just that she has a knowing look on her face whenever Caitlin latches onto you for the fifth time in an hour.

Normally, you wouldn't have minded, but when she does it at training... it gets a little distracting.

Particularly when practising marking for corners. It feels like she uses every opportunity to be pressed against you. She goes out of her way to mark you, to be the first to mark you despite not even sharing positions.

Her hands find your waist, gripping you tightly, and you have to smack them away with red cheeks so that you avoid being both held in place and also teased by the others.

She doesn't do it with Steph as much, but it's still prominent when you aren't a part of the drill.

Usually, you're pretty observant of anything going on with your girlfriends, but this has you completely befuddled.

Well.

That is until the game against Chelsea.

It'd been rough from the start, both teams eager to get the london derby underway from the start of the season, eager to see who could test the other the most in the coming days.

With Arsenal out of the Champions league, this was the most important game for your team to win. Arsenal needed to set itself up for precendence early.

With that came physicality. And fast. Every opportunity for a header was met with being held down by the waist. Every time you had the ball, it was met with a slide tackle. Every run was met with being held back by the arm or your shirt.

It was getting on your last nerve.

You knew the captain and her partner well. You loved them both like family, having spent years growing up with Magda and others playing on the same team as Pernille. Playing at Arsenal was the only time either of you had been separated.

Unfortunately, that fondness didn't translate onto the pitch.

Magda was the first one to take your feet out from under you, and Pernille was constantly on you, both of them knowing how well you linked up through the midfield and that you were a constant danger at any time on the ball.

Football is a physical game. You knew that.

But it was getting a little out of hand at this point.

Which brings you to now.

There's a foul just outside the penalty area winning Arsenal a free kick, which converts into a corner after the ball ricochets off Cuthbert.

Stood in line waiting for the in, you shift, ready to leap up for the header. As soon as the ball is lofted into the box, hands grip your waist, preventing you from making the header.

You shake it off the first time. And the second time.

The third time, Magda completely takes you off your feet, and you hit the turf with a groan of frustration. How was the ref not catching any of this?

The fourth and fifth times, you brush it off, but you can see Caitlin practically death glaring Magda as the swede pulls you up again.

What you didn't see was the constant hole Caitlin was boring into the Chelsea Captain's head when she even so much as stood near you. It got particularly bad when Magdalena dropped you on your butt.

The last time it happens that half, Caitlin spins around to yell to the umpire. The sideline ref spots it too, Magda is warned but nothing more.

Caitlin growls but returns to position with a look from you.

Half time can't come quick enough for you. The lockeroom is alight with various chatter as they all fire off strategies and mid game plays that need to be fixed. Your girlfriends sit either side of you, Caitlin's hand tightly gripping your leg, a beset half glare on her face.

"I need you all to just keep pressuring. My strikers, you're doing good, but it's just getting in for those shots where you need to be. Try to shake your defenders."

With a nod from all of you, you all make your way back to the pitch in a hopeful search of goals.

It's just minutes into the next half when it happens, you fight the hold, but in the end, you hit the pitch again. This time, it sets off the firey striker.

She sees you get pulled down and sees red, she gets right up in the captains face with almost no hesitation.

"What the hell is your problem?" She shoves the swede away from you, followed by the piercing screech of whistle behind her.

"Nothing, what's your problem?"

Magda shoves back a little, which leads to the others quickly pulling her away.

"Keep your hands off her. It's that simple Eriksson."

Realising your partner is about two seconds away from a yellow, you jump between them, too, quickly grabbing her by the shoulders to walk her away from the situation.

"Alright, that's enough outta both of you. Caitlin, you need to cool it. Do not get booted for this. It's not worth it."

"But she-"

"Caitlin! It's not worth it. Let it go."

She grunts but walks away, accepting the yellow card pointed in her direction.

The rest of the game goes as smoothly as it can. Occasionally, you catch Caitlin getting a little pushy with Pernille, too. But it's nothing major in the end, and the whistle blows in a nil all draw.

Exhausted but still in an okay mood given the results, you walk around to shake hands with the chelsea players and specifically go find Magda as well.

"Hey Magda, sorry about earlier, you know how feisty she gets. I'd say she's sorry as well, but-"

The blonde chuckles.

"Probably not, given the glare I'm receiving right now. Speaking of, how are your lover girls?"

You smile softly, a small flush creeping up your neck.

"Loving, sweet, caring as usual. Normally well behaved, I swear." She laughs at that.

"It's fine. What happens in the game stays in the game. Sorry about dropping you on your butt a lot there."

She winces slightly. You just jab poke her in the ribs and wrap an arm around her shoulders.

"Nah, that's nothing. It's not the worst thing you've done to me." It's a soft prod and she huffs at you.

"Excuse me. I thought we let that go already. Just because we used to torture each other as kids."

"We? You mean you used to do it. I was a total angel as a child."

"Oh, I'm sure you were, I heard all about your innocent professions from Magda's mum."

Pernille wraps her arm around your other side, hand ruffling your hair.

"Yeah, just like you weren't getting pushy either today." You look up at her, being unfortunately shorter than the platinum blonde.

"I have no idea what you're talking about søde."

A nudge from you makes her chuckle.

You chatter away with them in your second language, having learnt Swedish whilst living with the captain in sweden from the age of 10.

Your parents were travelling business people (Magda would call them deadbeats, but that's another story) having moved to Sweden when you were just five, growing up next to Magda for five years before your parents wanted to move back to Australia.

However, given that you'd become so close with the Eriksson family, they quickly agreed to let you stay with them, the travelling lifestyle rather cumbersome on a child your age.

You loved your parents, but they were more deadbeat than they liked to admit, and so Magda's mother became like your own, and Magda, a sister to you after accepting adoption by the swedish family.

As you banter away with them, Caitlin watches on from her position by the bench, a small scowl on her face.

They were clearly way too touchy with you. Pernille kissing your cheek occasionally, Magdalena's arm wrapped tightly around your waist, occasionally brushing away your hair as you talk animatedly, a small blush on your cheeks at one particular moment makes the heat rise in her chest.

But she wasn't jealous.

No.

Why would she be jealous?

A small poke to her side brings her out of her thoughts.

"What's up with you, grumpy?"

Steph's shiteating grin makes her roll her eyes.

"Nothing."

"Uhuh, right, like I'm sure Eriksson and Harder haven't felt the holes you're glaring in the side of their heads either."

She scoffs.

"I am not." Her cheeks turn red at the incredulous look she receives in return.

"Babe, you do know they're not flirting, right? Magda definitely isn't into her, and as far as I can tell, those are loving sibling noogies our girl is receiving from Pernille."

Caitlin turns back to you. Steph's right. Still, she doesn't like the way they're holding you.

At some point, you must feel her staring because you look over with a soft but mildly concerned smile, raising a brow in her direction.

She shakes her head and turns away, arms still folded across her chest as she moves to go into the locker room.

"What's up with your girl, Stephy?"

Steph chuckles softly.

"Oh, nothing. Just our girl getting attention from her adoptive sister, apparently. I don't think she knows."

Beth snorts.

"No, I don't think she does either."

They watch as the pair continue to rib you, eventually hugging them goodbye and promising to meet up at some point in the next week or so. Wandering back over to Steph, theres a mildly confused look on your face.

"What happened with Cait? Is she still upset over Magda taking me down?"

Steph shrugs.

"Maybe. You know why?"

You shrug as well.

-------------------------

The bus ride back is even more confusing.

She ends up planted in the spot next to you but far too quiet. Normally, she's sat next to Katie, where the two would be either bickering, playing card games, or giving each other shit over small plays during the game.

None of that, though, and it stays that way until you've returned home.

"Okay, what's going on with you? You've been quietly sulking since we got back."

The forward shrugs in response, having been pretty silent for the whole ride home, save for occasional hums as you and Steph chat about team drama and the girls' post game antics as well.

You exchange a look with Steph, who looks like she knows more than she's letting on with the small smirk that pulls at her lips.

Confused by the action, you turn back to your other girlfriend, whose eyes are locked on the ceiling now, avoiding your meeting your own.

You can't think of any reason she'd be upset. The game hadn't been majorly eventful aside from that one yellow card. Magda certainly wasn't malicious in her tackles, so there's no way she'd be holding a grudge over that. You'd basically gone straight home after the game, too.

She was acting fine up until-

Oh.

A mischievous grin crawls across your lips, and you move to sit in the striker's lap, surprising her mildly.

Your hands force her to look up at you.

"Baby, were you jealous?"

She scoffs, stumbling slightly over her words.

"Wha- no, I have no idea what you're talking about."

You sit back slightly, hand on your chin in faux confusion.

"Hm, I could've sworn you were glaring at Magda and P earlier. You saw that, right, Steph?"

You turn to the brunette, who is watching on clearly amused if anything.

"Oh, I sure did, I mean, if looks could kill."

You chuckle at the pout that makes its way onto Caitlin's face.

"I was not-"

She huffs at the growing smile on your face.

"It's really cute that you think they were flirting, baby. But no, there's no reason for you to be jealous, baby."

"But I wasn't jealous. They were just far too touchy, and-" the raised brow you give her makes her sigh softly.

"Okay, maybe a little bit, but still, they were all kissy, and it was getting way too touchy."

"Babe."

"But honestly they kept hugging you and after the game where they kept holding you and tackling you and-"

Cutting off her rambling, your finger sits on her lips and you hush her.

"Cait. I grew up with Magda. She's my adoptive sister. And Pernille definitely was not flirting. She's far too taken with Magda. Plus, she treats me like a little sister, too."

"Oh." Her cheeks flush.

"Honestly, baby, I thought you knew this already?"

Her cheeks go a little redder.

"No, why would I know? You've never told me about that."

"I'm out with them every other week. I usually tell you both, too."

"When? The only time you go out with friends, all we get from you is 'Hey, you two, I'm going to lunch with my sister and her girlfriend-' oh."

Both you and Steph lose it at that, Steph face palming as she falls back onto the couch, chest shaking with laughter.

You bury your face into her shoulder, shoulders jumping as you try to hide your giggles.

Caitlin rolls her eyes affectionately.

"Yeah, yeah, very funny, you two."

It takes you a minute to catch your breath again, hands moving to cup her cheeks, eyes alight with mirth.

"You're adorable. God, I love you. Also, wanna talk to us about why you've been extra touchy lately, too?"

She shakes her head and pulls you down to kiss her fully.

"Shut up."

You chuckle but comply, letting her have her way for now.

--------------------------

Caitlin didn't think she'd end up getting the third degree on her day off, but here she is, being teased mercilessly, stuck between you and Steph while you all rib her about last weeks game and the hickies you turned up to training with.

Between Steph, Beth, and occasionally Magda and Pernille, it really wasn't ending.

"Honestly, I don't know how you two didn't see it, really. She looked ready to implode after you kissed her cheek."

"I did not!"

"Baby, please, you were so red in the face."

"I'd just played 90 minutes. What do you expect?"

Beth pokes the girl with her shoe.

"Please, there was steam coming out of those ears."

Laughter rings out across the table.

"Tell me again why you thought I was flirting during the game by tackling her?"

Caitlin rolls her eyes at the swede.

"I didn't say that either."

You scoff playfully, turning to the chelsea defender.

"Ah yes, the swedish charm never fails you, huh Mags?"

"Sweeping girls off their feet since age ten."

Caitlin shakes her head.

"Okay, but like, what about the handsyness during the game? Harder, you were the worst of it."

The dane shrugs.

"It annoys her. That's literally it. Frustrate your opponents, and you have an easier time winning."

You scoff.

"Excuse me, don't say it like it actually worked."

"It did work."

"What part of a draw means you won?"

"I just said it worked."

"Clearly." You cock a brow at her.

The blonde flips you off, taking a sip of her coffee.

You poke your tongue out at her. Pernille chuckles, turning to her girlfriend.

"Childish. See babe, what did I tell you?"

"That I'm clearly the more mature and better looking sibling? See Caitlin? You have nothing to be jealous over. There's no way my girl would leave me for this thing."

Beth snorts and Steph has to cover a laugh when you take a swipe at the blonde.

"Bitch!"

While the other's watch on amused as you both bicker, Caitlin simply smiles, realising she definitely has nothing to worry about and reminds herself how much you show her love constantly.

Her clinginess had come from nowhere, so she'd blown it off.

Steph, however, knew well where it came from. Caitlin just got jealous easily, regardless of her protests to calling it that. Jealousy really is a bitch.

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#woso #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso imagines #caitlin foord imagine #caitlin foord imagines #caitlin foord x reader #steph catley imagine #steph catley imagines #steph catley x reader #steph catley #caitlin foord

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